A Place for Everything
by Jennifer Lee
Summary: Cowritten with Ellbee. Final chapter up! A sequel/third ending to "Precious Things." Thieves are looking for the Key, and intend to persuade Ardeth Bay to give it to them. But he doesn't have it. It's in England, with Margaret. Much angst ensues.
1. No Longer Safe

Chapter One

Author's Note:

Here we go again. I finished "The Puzzle Box" and "Precious Things," and I was very proud of myself. I was happy with the way they turned out, and was happy to leave it at that. I've always wanted to write a novel, so I decided that it was time to give it a shot.

Just like "The Rotter and the Governess," I blame Ellbee for this one. She kept sending me emails, whispering "sequel" into my ear when I had no intention of writing one. But then she came up with an idea. Then I built on it, then she built on it some more. And then….well, here it is.

This one we wrote together, completely and totally, sometimes even trading off paragraphs. So this was a complete team effort. We said we should call this one "What happens when the Queen of Angst and the Queen of Smut write a story together." Scary thought, isn't it? 

So, disclaimers: I now own TMR on DVD. Thank goodness. Along with all those ticket stubs, The Mummy Ultimate edition, some books and some trading cards. That is all that I own associated with the film. It's Stephen Sommers' and Universal's sandbox. I'm just sneaking in and playing with it. Margaret Crane is a character of my own creation, and she's become very very real to me.

As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you like it.

-jen

***

Chapter One

"Oh, no!"   
  
Margaret stood in her bedroom doorway and surveyed the mess. With a sigh, she walked over to the small vandal and knelt down. Using her sternest voice, she said, "Hannah, you are a very naughty girl." She took the lipstick out of the fat little fist. "Naughty, naughty, naughty."   
  
The little girl looked up at Margaret with the smile of an angel. The smile was slightly less effective than usual, however, due to the lipstick smeared from ear to ear, which made her look less like a three-year-old girl and more like a nightmare clown. "I a pwincess," she crowed happily. Around her was scattered the contents of Margaret's vanity drawers; lipstick was ground into the rug, a tin of face powder had been opened and spilt, and her comb was stuck in the child's long tangles.   
  
Margaret couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, what are we going to do with you?" Hannah had recently discovered the wonders of drawers and cupboards, or rather, the wonders that lay within these amazing receptacles. Nobody and nothing was safe anymore. Hannah had, over the past several weeks, emptied out her mother's lingerie drawer, her father's desk, every cupboard she could reach in the kitchen, and the liquor cabinet. They had had to move a rather large armchair in front of the liquor cabinet, which was rather inconvenient for anyone who wanted a drink, and otherwise had learned to be ever vigilant whenever Hannah was awake. Margaret had not been hit yet. She had been foolish enough to consider herself immune, since her room was towards the back of the house, and not usually in the child's path. Evidently, she had been a little too relaxed.   
  
"Oh, dear." Evelyn peeked into the room, dismay written on her face. "What a mess." She knelt down beside Margaret to help her pick up. "I am so sorry about this," Evelyn said.   
  
"Oh, don't worry, it's not so bad. My own fault, really. I left the door open." Margaret attempted, not very successfully, to scoop her powder back into its tin. Looking at Hannah, she said, "Why don't you take the princess here and get her cleaned up. I can take care of this."   
  
"All right, if you're sure." Evelyn stood up and shooed her daughter out of the room. Margaret could hear Evelyn's reprimands, as well as Hannah's merry cries of "I a pwincess!" all the way down the hall. She shook her head with a quiet laugh.  
  
That was when she saw it. The small bag lay half-hidden in the shadows under the vanity. She crawled forward, mindful of the lipstick on the rug, and picked up the bag. Hannah had apparently thought it was not interesting enough to play with. Remembrance flooded back, bringing a rush of emotions. It had been nearly eight months since they had left Alexandria; Margaret usually thought she did quite well. She didn't go out to the garden every night now, and she had stopped thinking about him constantly. Occasionally, she would start to believe she was completely over…everything. But then something would happen to bring him back to the forefront of her mind and she would almost reel from the pain she still felt. Something like this.   
  
She sat back on her heels and closed her eyes, letting the waves of regret wash over her for a moment. Yes, she still missed him. And a part of her probably always would. What if she had stayed? What if…? Then she gave herself a little shake. There was no need to indulge in this sort of thing; it would only make her miserable. She had a full life here, she told herself, and a wonderful family. She should learn to leave the past where it belonged.   
  
But what to do with this? She brought her attention back to the small black knitted bag in her hand. She loosened the drawstring and pulled out the small octagonal box. Several times she had considered going to Rick and asking him to keep the Key, but she had ultimately decided against it. Rick had his own business to worry about; he didn't need this additional burden. Ardeth had given it to her to keep safe, and that's what she intended to do, although she wasn't sure there was truly any need. It seemed to her that this box was a danger to no one anymore. But she wouldn't betray his trust. Even though they meant nothing to each other now, she had made him a promise. 

But her vanity was obviously not a safe place to keep it, not with "Mad Hannah" on the loose. She hefted the box in her hand and bit her lip, a thoughtful look on her face. Unbidden, a memory floated through her mind of the night he had given it to her. He had complimented her on her cleverness, at keeping the Key hidden from him. "Only because you never looked in my knitting bag," she had said. He had thrown his head back and laughed, a wonderful sound that now brought tears to her eyes to remember. "Then put it there again," he had said.

That was a good idea. She stood, slipping the small box into her pocket. She firmly closed the bedroom door behind her, so the little she-devil couldn't inflict more damage on her cosmetics while she was gone. Her knitting bag was downstairs in the sitting room, next to her favorite armchair, the one by the fire. She rummaged around in there for a few moments before coming up with a fat skein of dark grey wool. It was wound loosely enough that she could easily work a hole in the center of the skein. After a couple minutes' work, she had made a large enough indentation for the Key. She popped it inside the little hole, then worked the skein between her hands again, making it look like normal again. She could only tell it was there by squeezing it; the hardness of the box gave it away.

But she didn't think that anyone would want to go through her knitting bag and squeeze all her yarn. This should be fine. She dropped her bag back to the floor beside the chair and headed back up the stairs. She still had to sweep up all that face powder, and try and figure out a way to get the lipstick out of the rug.

Halfway up the stairs, she found herself overcome with memories. Memories of wavy, raven-black hair. Of gentle brown eyes. Of strong arms around her. She suddenly missed him so much that it hurt to breathe. Her fingers dug into the banister, and she felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. Teeth clenched, she shoved those memories away, and heaved a big sigh. She would go to the garden tonight at nine. She'd let the memories out, wallow in them for a few minutes, and have a good cry. Then she would get on with things. The way she always did. 

***

The watch should say nine o'clock. He was sure of it. Ardeth stared at the pocket watch, which stubbornly said that the time was a quarter to seven. Had he forgotten to wind it? He did so now. Winding the knob a couple of turns, he waited to hear that reassuring tick that was his last link to the woman he had let go. 

Silence. The smaller dial that showed the seconds didn't move. He stared at the watch's face harder, as if by force of will he could make it start to run again. But the hands stayed fixed at a quarter to seven.

He clicked the watch closed and held it in his fist, his hand warming the gold. He should have known that this would happen sooner or later. Watches, after all, were delicate things. A grain of sand could get inside and interfere with the gears. And there was plenty of sand in the desert. He should actually be surprised that this didn't happen sooner. He'd had eight months, and while he no longer thought of her nightly, memories of her had both comforted him and twisted his heart. 

Perhaps this was a sign. Perhaps he should put the watch away with other prized possessions, and look forward with a lighter heart. Perhaps it was time to put Margaret Crane behind him.

His attention was drawn by the sounds outside his tent. Voices were speaking in quiet urgency, with indications of muted alarm. Putting the watch away, he snatched up his scimitar and threw back the tent flap, just as someone called his name. No attack seemed imminent, but his men were running toward the edge of the ridge, about a hundred yards west of the camp. They were looking down to the valley below, illuminated by an almost full moon. A path cleared for him as he approached.   
  
One horse, two riders. They were his men, he could tell that much even in the dark, and at this distance. One of the riders appeared to slump against the other. His chest tightened, though his face remained impassive. What had happened? He sent several of his men down to help the riders, while he and the rest of the men watched and waited.   
  
Ardeth was the first one to the newcomers as they rode in, flanked by the Medjai from the camp. Asim looked tired but unhurt; he held the body of young Yusef before him. Ardeth and another man helped lift Yusef down. His body was riddled with bullet wounds; his robes were torn and streaked with sand and blood. "Asim, what has happened?" Yusef was one of the guards of the secret store of treasure taken from Hamunaptra. He should be miles away.   
  
"Be careful. He lives, but barely," Asim said with concern. "I am not sure what happened, my lord. My squad was riding to relieve the guards at the south post when we came across Yusef unconscious in the desert. Two men rode on to the south, the rest to the west to find out what has befallen. This was the nearest encampment, and Yusef needed attention, so I told the men to ride quickly here with any news."   
  
Asim looked at Ardeth with a question in his eyes. Ardeth laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, saying, "You have done well. Get some rest now. You have ridden far." Several men had brought an improvised litter. He directed them to carry Yusef into his tent, and sent for his lieutenant, who had the most skill at healing of those present.   
  
***   
  
Ardeth watched as his lieutenant worked on the boy, cleaning his wounds and attempting to stop the blood that still flowed. More than that they could not manage here, and it was obvious that Yusef would not live to see a doctor. Ardeth wet down a cloth to clean Yusef's battered face. The young man stirred at the touch of the cool cloth, then suddenly gasped and tried to sit up. With a groan, he fell back.   
  
"Be still," Ardeth ordered gently.   
  
Yusef's eyes flew open; he looked at Ardeth in alarm. "My lord?" he whispered.   
  
"Yes, Yusef, I am here. Asim brought you here, he said he found you in the desert." Ardeth kept his voice a monotone, low and soothing. Not only was Yusef gravely injured, but he was very much in awe of his chief. Ardeth did not want to frighten the boy, but he had to find out what had happened. It could be days before any news was brought, and he could not afford to wait. "What has happened, Yusef?"   
  
To Ardeth's dismay, Yusef screwed up his face, obviously trying to hold back tears. He tried to speak, but no words came for several moments, only a choked sobbing sound. "Forgive me…" Yusef finally managed to say. "I have failed you."   
  
A fist closed around Ardeth's heart, but his voice was calm. "Tell me."   
  
"We were guarding the cave where the treasures are stored when they came upon us…four or five, I think…must have gotten past the watchers…"   
  
"Yes?" Ardeth's voice was tight with tension.   
  
"They had automatic weapons, they cut us down before we knew… Hassan tried to get away, but they…" Yusef's voice trailed off, as he closed his eyes and licked his parched lips.   
  
Ardeth held up the boy's head as he trickled water into his mouth, but he remained silent, waiting. In a moment, Yusef's eyes opened, and he continued weakly.   
  
"They thought I was dead, but I heard them…had to warn you…they took the book…"   
  
"Do not trouble yourself," Ardeth told him, although he himself was very troubled indeed. "They cannot…"   
  
"Wait, my lord." Yusef made a great effort to speak. "They could not find the Key, which made them angry. But…" He looked up at Ardeth with his eyes full of apprehension. "Omar was with them."   
  
Omar. Ardeth's eyes hardened, but otherwise his expression did not change. Before he could say anything, Yusef went on. "I heard him…he said if the Key was not there, you must have it, or know where…" A spasm of some sort shook him.   
  
"They will not get the Key from me," Ardeth assured him, trying to calm him. "You have nothing with which to blame yourself."   
  
"Omar said so…" Yusef grasped at Ardeth's hand in desperation. " He spoke to another…an older man, his head shone…white beard…said you would not give up the Key, unless…he said they could use the Westerners, to force you…the O'Connells…and the woman…"   
  
The fist tightened around his heart. In his mind, he saw a picture of a mousy woman grown beautiful before his very eyes, standing on a Cairo street, looking at him calmly while she promised to keep the Key. He brought his eyes back to focus on Yusef. "What else did they say? Yusef, tell me…" Then he sat back on his heels, and gently laid the boy's hand down.   
  
Taking a deep breath, he looked into the eyes of Hamid, his lieutenant, who was covering the body with a blanket, and then got to his feet. He would have to plan this carefully. 


	2. Working Late

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

"Are you going to be here late tonight?"

Evelyn shook her head. "Not too late. Maybe only nine or so."

Rick sighed. He was trying very hard to be a supportive husband. He wasn't one of those old-fashioned guys; he could deal with a wife who had a job, and was good at it. But he missed her, pure and simple. Alex had left for boarding school, and with Margaret at home to mind Hannah, Evelyn seemed to find it easier to spend more and more time here at the British Museum and less and less time at home.

But he would be supportive, dammit. "Got a lot to do?"

She nodded absently, scanning a sheet of paper before putting it down on her desk. "Somewhat. A new Egyptian shipment came in a few days ago, and it's been mostly catalogued, we just need to decide where to put it all. Would you like to see?" She looked up at her husband then, an eager glint in her eyes.

Rick didn't want to see the new artifacts. He didn't want to have anything to do with Egypt again for as long as he lived, and he had said that more than once. But his wife still loved it; she still had that Egyptian blood running through her veins, and would probably never lose her fascination. Besides, he thought. Ancient Egyptian artifacts were a lot less scary under glass cases here in London, than out in the desert, being wielded by maniacs.

"Sure," he finally said. If this was the only way he was going to be able to spend time with her today, then so be it.

They walked out of the office wing of the British Museum, and headed at a leisurely pace to the Ancient Egypt wing. As they walked, Rick pulled a letter out of his pocket.

"Alex wrote," he said. Evelyn seized the letter, opening it and devouring its contents as she walked. She smiled at all his descriptions of boarding school: this professor was cruel, the boys he bunked with were great and were teaching him to play rugby, the food was terrible. Not a lot of detail about his actual studies, but somehow Evelyn was not surprised by that. She folded the letter with a happy sigh and handed it back to Rick.

"Sounds like he's having a good time," she said. Rick frowned a little.

"Too good a time, maybe," he replied. "Shouldn't he be paying more attention to his classes?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you did? Were you Rick O'Connell, Model Student?"

He laughed out loud. "Oh, yeah. That's me. You should ask Meg about that sometime. There's nothing more humiliating than being seventeen and having a ten year old tutor you in French." He chuckled at the memory.

Evelyn chuckled too. They had reached the Ancient Egypt wing, and noticed that while they weren't the only ones in there, it was very sparsely populated. This wasn't surprising, for a Wednesday afternoon in the middle of winter. A young married couple marveled over a still-wrapped mummy, reclining in its sarcophagus. A scholarly looking middle-aged man, with a bald head and a neatly trimmed white beard, studied a stone tablet covered in hieroglyphics. A couple of men stood close to the scholar, but they weren't looking at anything in particular. They glanced around idly, as if they were waiting for a bus. They struck Evelyn as odd, but she wasn't sure why.

Before she could think about it further, Rick spoke up again. "Speaking of Meg, how do you think she's doing?"

Evelyn raised her eyebrows. "She seems to be fine. I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean with…" Rick waved his hands, a little ineffectually. It was obvious that he was having trouble articulating his concern for his adopted sister. "…Well, everything. Since we've been back. She's less…sad now, isn't she?"

"Ah." Now Evelyn knew what he meant. She thought about his question as they strolled through the exhibit, which had significant holes already made in certain places, where the new acquisitions would go. "I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "Jonathan said that he talked to her a few weeks ago, and she was still having some trouble. You know, getting over it all."

Rick snorted, looking over the scholar's shoulder for a second before returning to the thread of the conversation. "Well, it's not every day that the leader of the Medjai falls in love with you."

"Well, exactly," Evelyn said. "And she fell in love with him. It's bound to take time. She seems to be doing well, though. She just needs to know that she has family around, and we'll always be there for her."

Rick nodded. "I just wish there was more I could do."

Evelyn sighed. "So do I." She shook herself a little. "But there's no point in fretting over things we can't do, now is there? So anyway, there's this large stone tablet we need to put in, and I was thinking of right over--" Her voice faltered as she looked around the room. The married couple had moved on to a glass case with beads, dishes, and other trinkets. But the men were gone. The scholar, and the two strange men. She hadn't heard them leave. Odd. She shook her head and turned her attention back to her husband, and her plans for updating the exhibit.

After a little while, they returned to Evelyn's office.

"So do you want me to come and pick you up at nine?"

Evelyn smiled. "That would be wonderful. You sure you don't mind?"

Rick shook his head. He bent down to kiss his wife. "Now get to work. I don't want to have to wait around for you when I get back."

Evelyn shook her head with a smirk, watching her husband leave before she sat down at her desk. The evening passed quietly, and she had managed to make a sizeable dent in the paperwork in front of her when she heard a footstep outside her door. Glancing up at the clock, she called, "Well, now, that's just not fair, Rick! You're here fifteen minutes early!"

"Forgive me," came a voice from the doorway. A voice that was most definitely not her husband's. "I am sorry to disturb you."

Evelyn stared dumbly for a moment, then dropped the paper she was holding and got to her feet. "Ardeth," she said. "What--what are you doing here?"

The Medjai chieftain entered her office, nodding to her. "Evelyn."

She blinked, clearing the surprise from her mind. "Please," she said. "Have a seat."

He shook his head. "I will not remain long. I need to ask something of you."

"Of course," she replied automatically. "What is it?"

Surprisingly, Ardeth didn't answer right away. He took a breath, letting it out slowly. "I need to retrieve the Key. It is no longer safe here."

She looked at him, puzzled. "The Key? You say it's here? You mean in the Museum?" She shook her head. "It's not here. I think I would remember if I'd run across that."

Ardeth shook his head. "I do not mean at the Museum. I believe it is at your home." He paused for a moment. A muscle twitched in his cheek, as if he was gritting his teeth. "Margaret has it."

Evelyn's eyes widened. "She does? That can't be…she never told us."

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "She told me she would keep it safe," he said. Then the smile disappeared. "But it is no longer safe here. I am asking you to retrieve the Key from her and bring it to me here."

"Rick will be here soon," Evelyn said. "Why don't you come back with us now, and--"

He shook his head. "No. I would prefer not to do that." His voice lowered a fraction. "It may be better, perhaps," he continued, "if she does not know that I was here."

Involuntarily, Evelyn felt her eyes brim a little with tears. The pain she could see in his face was familiar to her; it still appeared in Margaret's face from time to time. She ducked her head, blinking quickly. "Of course," she murmured.

"Hey, Evy, you about ready to--" Rick's voice dropped off when he saw the visitor. He blinked twice, then pointed at Ardeth. "No."

Evelyn sighed. "Rick…"

"I said no." Rick's voice was firm, not to be argued with, and a little afraid. "I don't care who woke up. I don't care who's gonna destroy the world with what army. I'm not helping. I'm done. I told you before…"

"Rick." Evelyn's voice was louder now. "He's not here for our help. He just needs the Key."

"Huh?"

"The Key," she repeated. "Margaret has it."

Rick blinked again while this information sank in. "Oh." He clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Sorry."

Ardeth nodded. "I understand. You do not want to put your family in any more danger. That is why I am here." He took a deep breath, obviously glad that Rick was now here to talk to. "There are those who are after the Key. They think that I have it. I have reason to believe that your family may be in danger if I do not get it back."

Rick's brow furrowed. "Why us?'

Ardeth sighed. He looked to the floor for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "My friend, you have stood by my side in many a battle, and I have always been glad of that. The majority of my men feel the same way. They look upon you as one of us, a Medjai like we are." His face darkened. "But not all think as we do. There are those who feel that the Medjai, as the bodyguards of the Pharaohs, are superior to other men, and should not mix with those beneath us."

Rick nodded slowly. "So some of your guys don't like that we are your friends."

Evelyn looked at Ardeth, her eyes wide. "And that Margaret--"

"Yes." Ardeth cut her off before she could finish. "One such man was a lieutenant of mine. Omar was one of my most trusted allies, someone into whose hands I would have gladly given my life." He shook his head. "He did not like the events at Alexandria. He has little use for people from the West. He did not understand why we did not simply take the artifacts away from you, and why we allowed you, O'Connell, to fight with us. We exchanged many harsh words. When you went home, I returned to my men, and Omar had gone. I was not surprised. He had stopped respecting my leadership long ago."

"So do more of your men feel this way?"

Ardeth shook his head again. "I am not sure. That is one reason I am here alone. It is hard to know who to trust at the present time." He passed a hand over his eyes. "A week ago, ten of my men were attacked, and brutally murdered. The Book of Amun-Ra was stolen, and the same thieves now seek the Key. Omar was with them."

"He helped kill fellow Medjai?" Evelyn was horrified.

Ardeth nodded heavily. "He did. And now I fear he and his friends will come after you. He bears no love for those from the West, and would not hesitate to harm you."

"Friends?" Rick repeated. "Other renegade Medjai?"

Ardeth smiled humorlessly at this description, but shook his head. "No. It seems as though he has fallen in with common treasure seekers. One of them was able to read the book, however, which means he is a man of some knowledge. My descriptions of them are rough, so I must ask you to simply be cautious."

"No idea what they look like, then?"

"Omar is Medjai. You will recognize him by his markings, of course." Ardeth sighed. "One man was hairless, his head glowed in the moonlight. One of my men remembered a beard, white, like that of an old man."

"Oh my God." Evelyn grabbed onto the desk and looked at her husband, her face white. "They were here."

"What?"

"Today. Oh, Rick, don't you remember?" she asked him miserably. "In the exhibit hall this afternoon. The man that was reading the stone tablet. There were a couple of other men loitering around him, and I thought they looked odd. Oh, come on, I know you saw him. You even looked over his shoulder, when we were talking about--" Her face went even paler, down to her lips.

"What were you talking about?" Ardeth asked. "What did they hear?"

Evelyn didn't answer for a moment; she looked stunned. "We were talking about Margaret. And…" She drew a shuddering breath, then looked straight at Ardeth. "And you."

Ardeth exhaled through clenched teeth. "Where is she now?"

"At home," Rick answered. "I just left her there."

Ardeth swung around to face him. "Alone?"

He shrugged. "Well, yeah. Hannah's asleep, Jonathan went out. She's fine. I'm telling you, I just left. I've been gone maybe twenty minutes." He jingled the car keys in his pocket as evidence. "Come on, you can see for yourself." Ardeth paused, then nodded with a sigh. Without another word, the trio left the Museum and headed for the car, none of them wanting to acknowledge the uneasy feeling in the pits of their stomachs.

***

Winter was such a tiring season. She supposed it was because it got dark so early, but even though it was only a little after nine, it felt like it was much later. Her eyes were getting tired already, she supposed she had better stop before she dropped a stitch, or purled when she was supposed to knit.   
  
Margaret rolled up her half-done sweater that was Alex's birthday present and stuffed it into her knitting bag. It was so nice and warm here by the fire; perhaps she would just relax for a few more minutes before going up to check on Hannah. She had just settled back and opened her book when she heard a knock on the door. Jonathan must have forgotten his key again. Rolling her eyes, she heaved herself to her feet with a sigh and went to the front hall. "Honestly, Jonathan, when will you ever learn…"   
  
This last word fell from her lips as she opened the door. Standing there were three large black-clad men, holding large black guns. Instinctively, she slammed the door in their faces, before they had a chance to react, and threw the bolt. Immediately there was a ferocious assault on the door, but they did not shoot at it, and it held.   
  
She backed away from the door a step or two and then stood rooted to the spot, her hands clasped to her mouth, too paralyzed with fear to move. What was going on? Why were armed bandits suddenly appearing at the door? Her mind was blank with confusion, bordering on terror.

  
Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass brought her to life. The library! They had broken the window in the library; already she heard the thud of boots in the house. Her paralysis suddenly broken, she turned and ran as fast as she could up the stairs, not knowing where else to go.   
  
Even as she pounded up the stairs, she heard them down in the front hall. She had to hide. She skidded to a halt as she realized she was running down the hall to her room. Hannah slept down that way. She couldn't lead them to the baby. She doubled back, running down the opposite hallway that ended in a large door. The east wing, which was in perpetual need of repair. There were no living quarters there, only cavernous, ornate, decaying rooms filled with bits and pieces from the rest of the house. Fancy storage rooms, really. Could she make it to the door in time? She flew down the hall, still not sure what she was running away from. Why were these men after her? "Stay asleep, Hannah," she breathed like a mantra. "Stay asleep."  
  
She pushed on the large door, which refused to move at first. She hadn't realized the door was so heavy, or that the hinges were so stubborn. Margaret pushed and heaved for what seemed a lifetime, until she was able to get it open far enough to slip through. Heavy footsteps were thundering up the stairs as she leaned her back against the door and pushed with all her might, slamming the door to. There was no lock; she would have to rely on the door itself to slow them down.   
  
Where to go now? Not the first room; it was so crammed full of boxes she couldn't find a way in. But the next one was fairly full of large old pieces of furniture covered with dustsheets, there were plenty of places to hide in here. She wove her way toward the back of the room, trying to put as much space as possible between herself and those men. They were already getting the door open, she could hear the screeching of the hinges. Quickly she dove under a high old sofa, tucking her feet up under the dustsheet, and laying her head down on the floor. The room, having no curtains, was flooded with moonlight. She could just see under the sheet. Concentrating on not making a sound, on not coughing or sneezing from all the dust, she waited. She could only hope they wouldn't hear her heart pounding.   
  
She heard their voices. They were speaking Arabic, she realized with a start. One voice told the rest to start looking. Perhaps they would get tired of looking for her. Perhaps they would just go away. Perhaps this was a horrible nightmare, and soon she would wake up, panting and sweating, in her own small bed, in her own comfortable room. 

The room was cold. She hadn't realized it before, but the lack of heat in this wing made the English winter very much in evidence in this room. Despite the pounding of her heart, she realized that her arms and legs were shivering. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering together.  
  
Then she saw them. Black boots walked deliberately into the room, stopping just inside the door. An evil-looking gun barrel dangled down beside them. In a flash, she was in Alexandria, hiding under the bed, while men stalked downstairs. That time, those black boots and gun had belonged to Ardeth; he had pulled her out from under the bed and into the safety of his arms. The memory came upon her so suddenly and so vividly that she must have let out a gasp, because Black Boots made an "Aha!" sound and stepped further into the room, turning slowly, as if surveying his surroundings. Slowly he moved to the first piece of furniture, and ripped of the covering, tossing it aside. Margaret flinched, as if he had actually found her. Dust flew everywhere, making him sneeze, but still he kept coming, methodically yanking off the sheets, moving closer and closer. In a panic, Margaret backed out from her hiding place, under the next sheet, then under the next. She knew that she was backing herself into a corner, but she couldn't stop somehow. The sheets were flying around the room now, like vengeful spirits, as the man quickly denuded the faded furnishings.   
  
As she crawled out from under a chair, she realized that there was nowhere else to go. She sat up, her back against the wall, and looked about wildly. But Black Boots had already spotted her. He let out a shout that brought the sound of running feet to her ears, and climbed quickly over sofas and chairs towards her, overturning a few on the way. She opened her mouth to scream, but he was already on top of her, a dusty hand covering her mouth. Then there were many hands, and several large male bodies dragging her out of the corner, pinning her arms.   
  
They stood her up as a smaller man came in: a bald man, with a white beard. She was barely able to breathe with the large hand clamped firmly over her mouth, and her eyes were filled with tears of fear. The small man looked her over and said, coldly and in slightly accented English, "So, they have found you. You are Margaret Crane, yes?" Her head jerked in the slightest of nods. She struggled to take a breath around the hand over her mouth and the terror clogging her throat. The man smiled thinly. "Good. Now, I trust you will give us no more trouble." He made a small motion with his hand to the men, and the world exploded in light and stars and pain. Then, mercifully, there was darkness. 


	3. Gone

Chapter Three 

Chapter Three

"See?" Rick said as he pulled the car up to the front door and killed the engine. "The house is still standing. No explosions. Everything's fine."

Evelyn sighed in exasperation as she opened the passenger door. "No one said anything about explosions, Rick."

"I know. But I think you two worry too much. Meg's probably asleep in front of the fire. You know how cold she gets. If she could crawl into the fireplace, I think she would sometimes."

Ardeth smiled a little at this description of Margaret, but even in the dark, Evelyn could see that the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Now," Rick said, getting out the front door key. "We'll go in, make sure everyone's okay, and we'll get you the Key. Then you can…" Rick's next plan for Ardeth was never articulated, as the front door opened without the use of the key. It had been left unlocked. "Weird," he muttered. "I know I locked it behind me." 

The three of them walked into the front hallway and glanced around warily. Rick headed to the sitting room. "Meg?" They heard him call. "We're home, is everything…Meg?" 

When Rick kept repeating her name, Evelyn and Ardeth looked at one another in growing alarm. Evelyn walked a few steps in the other direction, and shivered suddenly. "It's cold over here. Do you feel a draft?"

Ardeth shrugged a little. "All of England is cold to me. Especially now."

Evelyn shook her head absently. "No, there's a draft. It's coming from…" She walked down the hallway, following the chill in the air until she came to the open library door. She stood in the doorway for a few moments, then shouted, "Rick!"

Her husband came running, Ardeth following close behind. Both men followed her gaze to the broken window. Shards of glass littered the floor, twinkling in the moonlight like fallen stars on the carpet. An icy wind from outside blew back the curtains, and there was a dusting of snow in the room.

"Hannah." Panic lent speed to Evelyn's feet, and she whirled, dashing up the stairs and down the hallway to the little girl's bedroom. Rick was right behind her, Ardeth following a couple of steps behind. 

At the top of the stairs, Ardeth heard voices. Rick's, a low murmur to his daughter, followed by Evelyn's, exultant with relief, and the high piping voice of the young girl. Hannah was all right. He did not hear Margaret's voice. 

He turned away from the voices and headed down the opposite hallway, which ended in a large white door. It was stuck; he had to give it a good shove with his shoulder before it gave way, hinges squeaking in protest. Once through the door, he was assaulted by a wave of cold air. This wing was obviously not used, and no fires were lit anywhere nearby. It was also deserted; no one was here.

But he had to make sure. "Margaret?" he called out softly, the name sounding strange on his lips. In eight months, he had not spoken her name aloud. Now he had done so twice in the space of an hour. The sound of her name brought back a myriad of memories and emotions that he had to brush aside for now. He would make sure she was all right. Then he would get the Key from her. Then he would leave.

The light from the hallway behind him streamed in, allowing him to see how dusty everything was. And how the dust on the floor had been disturbed. Many feet had walked here, and very recently. Something had happened here.   
  
He looked into the first room and saw that it was full of packing crates in various sizes**. **It was much too full for anything as large as a person to fit inside. When he got to the next room, he stopped dead on the sill. For a few moments, he thought that his heart must have stopped as well. White dustsheets were strewn everywhere, and furniture was overturned. She must have hidden here. And this was where they had found her. He could see her face before him, wide-eyed and terrified, as she must have been. Had they hurt her? Was she still alive? He sucked in a strangled breath as he noticed a smear of blood on the doorjamb. It was not much; whatever wound had been inflicted here had not been fatal. But it was enough to show that someone had been injured. He could not imagine that someone to be anyone other than Margaret. He touched the smear with a finger that almost trembled. The blood came up easily. It had not been there long.  
  
Unbidden, thoughts of that day in Alexandria returned to him. She had hidden under the bed until he had found her, safe and unharmed. He had not been here this time. If only he had gotten here an hour sooner, she would be safely in his arms instead of…   
  
He closed his eyes and shook his head, ridding his mind of these thoughts. Even if he had been here, he could only have had the satisfaction of seeing her safe. As much as he ached to hold her again, he knew that it was impossible. She had left him many months before, and had made it plain that the difficulties of a union with him were insurmountable. To think of her in this way was out of the question. He was concerned about her welfare, of course. Especially since, in a way, he was the cause of her trouble. He would feel no less for any innocent woman, any stranger.   
  
But she was no stranger. As much as he tried to tell himself otherwise, he knew that he still loved her. And because of that love, he owed it to her to find her, and to return her safely to her home. To the O'Connells, where she was happy. He turned away from the room and strode down the hall to find the others, his heart heavy. 

When he emerged from the all-but-deserted wing, Rick was waiting for him, a little out of breath from another run up the stairs. Evelyn was beside him.

"I went back downstairs and looked around. There's nothing," Rick said. "That's a good sign though, right? Maybe she--"

"She's gone," Ardeth interrupted. He jerked his chin, indicating the hallway behind him. "She hid in a storage room there, but they found her."

"Oh, no." Evelyn pressed her hands to her mouth, blinking hard against tears. "She must have been so afraid."

Of course she had been afraid. Ardeth remembered dazed gray eyes that could barely focus on him, pale cold skin, tears that gathered but did not fall. And that was in Alexandria, when she had been safe. She had not been safe this time. She had been kidnapped. She had been struck. Ardeth had to make his mind stop lingering on these thoughts, because he could see his vision going red around the edges, could feel the pure fury rising in his chest.

"She is alive," he said, his voice sounding ragged in his own ears. "And they will use her to persuade me to give them the Key. We must find it."

Evelyn nodded slowly. "It must be in her room. Come on." She turned, leading them down the hall to Margaret's small bedroom.

Nearly an hour later, Evelyn gave a sigh. "It's not here." She sat on the floor by Margaret's wardrobe, shoes and modest dresses piled around her, all the pockets turned inside out. She looked at Ardeth with defeat in her eyes. "You must be mistaken. She doesn't have it."   
  
Rick had his tongue clamped between his teeth as he tried to refold a feminine bit of something. "Maybe it's somewhere else in the house," he got out through gritted teeth.   
  
Ardeth stood in the doorway looking around the room. This evening had gone from merely heartwrenching to heartbreaking. Everywhere he looked in the small room, he was reminded of her. Her hairbrush on the dressing table, her dressing gown--that same dressing gown-- laid neatly over the foot of the bed. Or it had been, before the bed had been stripped and the mattress moved so they could look under it. He had had no idea that merely seeing things that belonged to her would cause him so much pain. 

The Key was certainly not here. No room had ever been searched more thoroughly. His eyes stared unblinkingly at the wall opposite, fighting against the ache in his heart, while he looked inward, remembering. He remembered asking her to take the Key, telling her how clever she had been in keeping it hidden from him. That small smile as she said, "Only because you never looked…"   
  
"Knitting." The word was quiet but forceful. "Margaret knits." It was almost a question, but he knew the answer.   
  
"Yes, of course she does," Evelyn answered, putting Margaret's shoes neatly back into the wardrobe. Her lips turned up in a small smile. "That's like asking if she breathes. But what…?"   
  
"Where are her knitting things? She keeps it all in a bag. I do not see it here." He could hear the note of desperation in his own voice.   
  
Rick cocked an eyebrow at him. "What, you want to make a sweater?"   
  
"Oh, shut up, Rick," Evelyn said impatiently. "I know where it is." She pushed past Ardeth and raced excitedly down the stairs, followed closely by the two men. Once in the sitting room, she snatched up Margaret's knitting bag from beside the armchair with a look of triumph. Ardeth unceremoniously grabbed it out of her hand, kneeling down and upending it onto the floor. He scrabbled around among the skeins of wool, wooden needles and partially finished projects, as Evelyn and Rick sank down beside him. 

It wasn't there, either. Ardeth sat back on his heels with a sigh. He had been so sure. Slowly, he started replacing things into the bag. His hand closed over a loosely wound skein of dark grey yarn, clenching it in frustration. Then he froze. He squeezed it harder. Then he tore the skein apart, demolishing it into a wild tangle of wool until he let out a small cry of victory and held out his hand. On his palm rested the small octagonal box.   
  
"Oh, no, not that bloody thing again." Jonathan's voice made them all start and turn around. He stood in the doorway, looking a bit bleary-eyed, his tie undone and the top of his shirt unbuttoned. "Oh, hello, Ardeth." He looked around vaguely and shivered. "I say, is there a draft in here?"   


***

There were a few things that Jonathan Carnahan was very good at. One of those things was getting drunk. Another of those things was sobering up very quickly when the occasion called for it. Within minutes, he had made a pot of very strong coffee, and was gulping down his second cup.

"Gone?" he kept repeating. "She's just…gone?" He stared into his coffee cup. He shook his head miserably. "This is all my fault."

Evelyn clucked her tongue, eschewing the coffee for a pot of tea. She poured a cup for herself as she looked up at her brother. "What nonsense. There's no point in blaming yourself. You had nothing to do with it."

Jonathan clutched the cup handle a little harder. His face looked devastated. "But I should have been here. I shouldn't have gone out tonight. She even said so. At dinner, she told me that I should be careful; respectable men didn't go out gambling on a Wednesday." He laughed, a humorless sound. "I told her that I haven't been respectable since I was seven, why should I start now? But if I had been here, I could have helped her." He shook his head again, looking down. "I should have been here."

Ardeth shook his head. "There were at least four men. You would not have been able to stop them."

"Right," Rick agreed. He took a swig of coffee. "The thing we have to worry about now is getting her back. Where would they take her?"

"Egypt," Ardeth said with a sigh. "They do not know that I am here. They will take her back to Egypt, and somehow get a message to me that they have her." He rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly looking very tired. "I should go," he said, starting to rise from his chair.

But Rick put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down in his chair. "Now, wait a second. You just got here, and now you're going to turn right around and go back? Think about this. You'll exhaust yourself, you'll collapse, and then you'll be no good to anybody. Least of all Meg." Ardeth's eyes closed; that same muscle in his cheek twitched at the mention of her name. Rick's voice softened a little, in sympathy to his friend's pain. "Stay here tonight. Get some rest. First thing tomorrow we'll start back."

"'We?'" Evelyn arched an eyebrow. Rick looked up at his wife.

"She's family," he said simply. "I want you and Jonathan to stay here, but I'm going." Evelyn pressed her lips together until they made a thin line, but she nodded.

  
Rick turned back to Ardeth. "So they have the gold book, you said, right?" Off his nod, he continued. "And they want the Key from you, I assume to open the book. Are they going to read some incantation? Take over the world?"

Ardeth shook his head. "I do not think so. Their motive, I believe, is much more basic than that. Treasure."

Rick squinted at him. "Treasure? You're telling me that they traveled halfway around the world to hold the woman you…to hold Meg hostage over a couple of artifacts so they can sell them?" Rick clenched his teeth briefly, shaking his head, admonishing himself mentally for what he almost said.

Ardeth did not react to his friend's slip. "No. That is not what I am saying." He looked down at the table for a moment, thinking hard. "When Omar murdered his fellow Medjai, he betrayed his people. He has no reason to hold any of our other secrets sacred anymore. I know where he is going." He fell silent again, still thinking.

"Well?" Rick was quickly growing impatient. Ardeth glanced up, surprised.

"Forgive me," he said. "By speaking of this now, I will be betraying a secret as well." He smiled thinly. "It is a difficult thing to do." Taking a deep breath, he continued before anyone else could speak. "They are going to the tomb of Nefertiri. With the Key and the book, they will be able to enter and raid the tomb."

Evelyn's teacup clattered into its saucer, tea spilling everywhere. She didn't notice. "What?"

Rick's eyes were almost as wide as Evelyn's. "You mean…"

Ardeth nodded. "For thousands of years, the Medjai have guarded her tomb as closely as those of the pharaohs. Its location has been kept secret, and has been undiscovered by raiders all these years. But now, I fear that Omar is divulging that secret, and is leading them there."

"Okay," Rick said carefully. "I understand that. But what I don't understand is why they need the gold book and the Key, if they're just going to raid a tomb and take the treasure."

"The tomb is locked," Evelyn said suddenly. Ardeth looked at her sharply, then nodded.

"It is," he said. "Just as Hamunaptra was built in such a way to collapse, so Nefertiri's final resting place is protected as well. If someone were to attempt to enter the tomb without first unlocking the door with the Key and reading the correct incantation of entrance from the Book of Amun-Ra, they would be considered an unwelcome visitor."

"That doesn't sound good at all," Jonathan muttered.

Evelyn shook her head. "It's booby-trapped. If you try to break in, you'll be killed."

"What's in the tomb?" Rick wasn't sure at this point if he was asking Ardeth or Evelyn. "Any magical bracelets or scepters?"

Ardeth shrugged. "No one knows. The Book of Amun-Ra was safely hidden in Hamunaptra, and no one attempted to enter without it. But as the protector of the Scorpion King's bracelet, she was a very important personage."

"So there could be just about anything in there." Ardeth nodded in agreement. Rick let out a long breath and sat back in his chair. 

"I'm going." All eyes turned to Evelyn, who was staring down mournfully at her spilled tea. "I want to see my...her…I want to see it," she finally finished.

"You're not leaving me here," Jonathan spoke up. "If there's anything I can do to help get Meg back, I want to do it."

Rick nodded, glancing once more at Ardeth. "Looks like you've got us after all." He sighed. "I guess I learned my lesson."

Evelyn raised her eyebrows. "What lesson is that?"

"When we left Alexandria, I said I was never going back to Egypt again." He shrugged. "Never say never."


	4. Voyages

Chapter Four 

Chapter Four

Throbbing pain. That was the first sensation Margaret awoke to. The entire left side of her head felt as though it were on fire. She tried to bring a hand up to her head, but something was wrong. Her hands moved together. Why were her hands tied? Then she remembered the men chasing her through the house, catching her in the storeroom. She didn't remember anything after that.   
  
The earth felt as though it were heaving underneath her. No, not the earth. Margaret had not traveled much, but she could definitely tell that she was on a boat. She had to choke down a wave of nausea; she had never been a very good sailor. But where were they taking her? And where was she now?   
  
Painfully, she opened her eyes. Everything seemed upside down for a moment, only adding to her seasickness. She was lying on her side, on a hard wooden floor, and there were crates stacked all around her. Across the small room a man reclined on another pile of crates. He had a rifle cradled loosely in his arms, apparently he was her guard. She stirred and tried to sit up, but she was too stiff and sore. With a groan she fell back to the floor.   
  
At her groan and her movement, the man sat up, speaking to her in Arabic. Margaret understood him. He had simply asked if she was awake, but she found she didn't have the energy to respond. She allowed her eyes to slide closed again and immediately fell into a nightmarish slumber.   
  
How long she had slept, she had no idea. When she woke again, her head felt slightly better, but her stomach ached with hunger, and she was even stiffer from lying on the hard floor. Making a great effort, she pushed herself into a sitting position, and rubbed her tied hands over her face, brushing her disheveled hair out of her eyes. The left side of her face was still very painful to the touch, and some of her hair seemed stuck there. Pulling it away, she was startled to see that it was matted with dried blood. No wonder her head hurt so much. Her guard was still there, standing with his back to her. At the sounds of her activity, he turned around.   
  
She looked up at him, and gasped out loud. He was Medjai! Her mind reeled for a moment. Why would the Medjai attack her? Had something happened to Ardeth? She opened her mouth, but she could only stammer out, "What…what are…?"   
  
"Quiet!" He spat the word in English. Never had Margaret heard one word hold so much hate and anger. What could she possibly have done…? Her eyes filled with tears, the knot of hunger in her stomach replaced by a knot of fear. He watched her dispassionately for a moment, then began to move slowly toward her. "Are you sad, my lady?" he asked tauntingly. "Are you afraid? Do not worry, you will see your lover soon enough." What did he mean? Horrible thoughts raced through her head. Did they have Ardeth? Was he even alive?  
  
She shrank back as he came near, squatting down in front of her. He rolled a long matted strand of her hair between his fingers, his voice was low but hateful. "I never did understand what Ardeth saw in you." Roughly, he grabbed her chin, holding her face close to his. His breath was unpleasant, his eyes were proud and cruel. The tattoos on his face reminded her so much of Ardeth, and yet this man was so unlike Ardeth. How could they both be Medjai? She tried to pull away, but his fingers only dug more painfully into her skin. "Just the usual sort of English whore." He laughed at her dusty, tear-streaked, bruised face. "A little less than the usual whore, now that I look at you."   
  
There was a tapping on the door. He let go of her, to her very great relief, and stood as another of the men entered. The Medjai, with a last bitter glance at Margaret, stalked out without a word. It must be the changing of the guard, Margaret thought to herself. She watched this new man warily, but he simply sat down on the crates and stretched his legs out in front of him. He looked at her briefly, and, seeming to decide she was in no condition to try to escape, pulled out a knife and started picking at his fingernails. Margaret let her head drop onto her arms, hiding her silent tears. 

***

Evelyn walked out onto the deck of the ship, where Rick was leaning against the railing, staring out at the water. Even with his back to her, she could see that he was tense: his shoulder muscles seemed clenched, and the hands that held onto the railing clutched it so tight the knuckles were white. He jumped only a little when she slipped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his back.

She felt him take a couple of deep breaths. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet.

"I never wanted a whole lot out of life," he said. "I never wanted to be rich, or famous, or anything like that. I never really considered family to be all that important. But now that I have a family of my own, I see that I was wrong. It's the most important thing in my life. You, and the kids, and Meg and Jonathan." He shook his head. "Part of me is so angry right now."

"What are you angry about?" Evelyn asked quietly. 

Rick sighed again. "I don't know. I'm angry with Ardeth, for dragging us into all this again. I'm angry with Meg, for having the Key all this time and not telling us. I'm…" He thought for a moment, then slammed a hand down on the railing. "I'm angry with myself for leaving the house that night."

Evelyn's arms tightened around him. "I know," she said. "I wish I hadn't worked so late."

"But that's silly," he protested. "You couldn't have known that--"

"Exactly," she interrupted. "And you couldn't have, either." She slipped under his arm so she was facing him now, standing between him and the railing. She took his face between her hands. "And it didn't matter if she had the Key or not. They obviously didn't know she had it, or they would have taken it."

"I know." He pulled his wife close, resting his chin on the top of her head. "And I know he didn't drag us into this. Hell, even Jonathan volunteered." 

Evelyn's lips curved up in a smile. "An incredible display of bravery, I thought." Then her face grew serious. "I hope Ardeth's right. I hope that they attempt to contact him in Cairo."

"They will," Rick said bitterly. "What's the point in kidnapping someone if you don't send a ransom note? I just hope that he's already heard from them by the time we meet him there." Ardeth had left for Egypt the morning after Margaret's abduction, while the O'Connells had followed two days later, after arranging for Hannah to stay with Evelyn and Jonathan's aunt in Bath. They were meeting him in Cairo, at Evelyn's old place of employment: the Museum of Antiquities. Ardeth had seemed confident that the kidnappers would be contacting him soon. Once they all met up in Cairo, they would be able to decide upon the next course of action.

Evelyn wrapped her arms around her husband, taking comfort in having him close. "I feel terrible for Ardeth," she finally said. "He still loves her, and I know that he blames himself for all of this."

Rick nodded against her head. "Just like we're all blaming ourselves." But even as he said those words, he knew that Ardeth was much worse off right now than any of them. He remembered Evelyn in the hands of kidnappers, remembered the helpless, frightened feeling that had settled in his chest. And even though Ardeth and Margaret had said goodbye to one another a long time ago, it had only taken a few seconds for Rick to realize that the Medjai's feelings for her had not waned. Yes, they were all a little frightened right now, and very apprehensive. But Ardeth, he knew, was going through hell.

***

  
Margaret lost track of time on this hellish cruise. She tried at first to figure out the schedule of the guards, but after a while it all became a jumble of sleeping and waking nightmares. There seemed to be three different men, besides the Medjai, and the little bald man, who only looked in now and again. The non-Medjai, as she thought of them, simply sat out their shifts without speaking, leaving her alone in her misery.   
  
But the Medjai seemed to delight in tormenting her. He continued to call her "my lady," but the bitterness in his voice turned the endearment into an epithet. He sneered at her relationship with Ardeth, characterizing it as the lowest form of illicit affair. Once Margaret had asked, almost wailing in anguish, "Why? Why are you doing this?" She had paid for her outburst; he had caught her on the mouth with a brutal backhand that she had not even seen coming, slamming her head into a large crate, making her dizzy with pain and fear. She had not attempted to speak to him again, she had only hung her head whenever he was her guard, and tried her best to hide her tears.   
  
After what seemed like endless days of this, the tedium of her confinement was broken, but not the fear, when the little bald man and the three men who were not guarding her came in, shutting the door firmly behind them. Margaret rose awkwardly to her feet, pulling herself up with the help of a crate, uncertain of what was coming.   
  
"Good afternoon, Miss Crane," the little man said in his precise English. "I am sure you have found this to be a rather unpleasant trip, so you will be pleased to learn that it is nearly over."   
  
He turned to one of the men and said in Arabic, "Give it to me." Suddenly, Margaret realized that they didn't know she spoke their language. For some reason, it became very important to her that they not find this out. This would be one little thing she had, a tiny bit of power in an otherwise hopeless situation. Perhaps she could at least find out what had become of Ardeth. She kept her eyes downcast, concentrating on keeping her face blank   
  
The bald man continued to speak, as one of the others handed him a small box. "We find we need something of yours." He motioned to the Medjai, who pulled out a knife and stalked menacingly toward her. Margaret cowered back against the wall with a small whimper, trying to shield herself with her bound hands. He raised his hand as if to strike her again when the little man spoke up sharply. "Temper, temper, Omar. We need her relatively unharmed."   
  
The Medjai-- Omar-- grunted and gave her an evil look, but he lowered his hand, bringing it to her head. He picked up a lock of her hair about the thickness of a finger, and cut it off near her head, giving it a painful yank as he did so.   
  
Margaret was stunned. "What are you doing?" she could not keep herself from asking.   
  
"You have a very important role to play, my dear. You are going to be the means by which we retrieve a certain artifact, a Key, from the leader of the Medjai." He took the lock of hair from Omar and shut it in the box, then tucked the box into his breast pocket. "With this, he will see that we are in earnest in our demands."   
  
For a moment Margaret closed her eyes, feeling nothing but relief that Ardeth was still alive. Then her eyes flew open as she grasped the import of his words. "But he--" she began, then stopped in horror. She had been just about to say that Ardeth did not have the Key. Luckily, a look of horror was appropriate for almost anything she could possibly say, and she could change her tack. She forced herself to go on. "But… he won't give it to you. I mean nothing to him, I really don't. I left Egypt months ago, and haven't seen him since. He probably doesn't even remember me." Tears sprang to her eyes. What she was saying was probably no more than the truth, and something she had begun to suspect, but she had never said it aloud before.   
  
"Humph," he snorted. "Let us hope that you are wrong. For your sake."   
  
With that he turned abruptly and left the room, taking the others with him, leaving her alone once again with her guard. Margaret lowered herself back to the floor, her eyes staring at nothing. 

***

"What time is it now?"   
  
"It's only twenty-five to two," Evelyn answered with a note of irritation in her voice. "Please don't ask me again, Rick. He'll be here."   
  
Rick, Evelyn and Jonathan had been waiting, with varying degrees of patience, for only ten minutes or so, but Rick was growing increasingly restless and anxious for action. The trip over on the boat, with its forced inactivity, had nearly driven him insane. Now that they were in Cairo, he was ready to do something, anything. He paced ceaselessly along the bottom step to the back entrance to the Museum of Antiquities. Ardeth had told them to meet him here at one-thirty, and now Rick was sure something had happened.   
  
Jonathan lounged on the steps, his hat pulled low to shield his eyes from the sun, his hands stuck in his pockets. He looked for all the world as if he had nothing to do and nowhere to go, but the tapping of one shoe against the other gave him away to anybody who knew him. He was nervous as well. "Relax, old chap. You're starting to make me dizzy. I say, why didn't he have us meet him inside, where it's cooler?"   
  
"Yes, and out of the way of prying eyes," Evelyn said, looking around her warily. The back entrance was almost as magnificent as the front; it was on a wide alley, nearly a street. There were not as many people back here as at the front, but the alley was by no means deserted. It was apparently used as a sort of short cut between two busier streets, and several people passed by the east side of the museum. Evelyn was eyeing these pedestrians when she said, "Ah, here he comes now."   
  
Ardeth was indeed walking toward them, accompanied by two other Medjai. They were just barely not marching, and they were certainly impressive. The tall leader strode in front, his subordinates to either side and a step or two behind him. The other two men were not quite as tall as Ardeth, but they were every bit as imposing, with the tattoos on their stern, impassive faces, and their array of weapons, and their long black robes. People turned to stare as they passed.   
  
"Well, they certainly aren't trying to keep a low profile," Jonathan said, standing up and shaking down his trouser legs. Even he didn't seem to think it would be appropriate to greet these men while reclining on the stairs.   
  
Rick raised his hand in a greeting as the three Medjai came close. "Good afternoon, my friends," Ardeth said, his face and his voice composed. Rick could see a muscle moving in Ardeth's cheek, the only sign of tension about him. "I trust your voyage was uneventful."   
  
"Yeah, I've had a little too much uneventful," Rick said. "Have you found anything out?"   
  
"Not yet." He turned to his men. "This is my lieutenant, Hamid," he said gesturing, "And this is Asim. They have come with me because they speak English. I suggest that Asim take Mrs. O'Connell back-"   
  
He did not get any more out before there was a small uproar. Evelyn immediately burst out with, "Oh, no, I'm not going anywhere!" Asim, whose face, Rick now noticed, was growing dark with suppressed emotion, so rare to see in a Medjai, spouted something in his own language that sounded very angry. Ardeth answered him, his voice low, but just as angry. Hamid moved around to stand beside Ardeth, looking fierce, but saying nothing. Evelyn unconsciously backed up a couple of steps, Jonathan's arm around her protectively, as Asim and Ardeth exchanged more angry words. Rick, Evelyn and Jonathan couldn't understand what was being said, but from the dark looks Asim sent Evelyn's way, it apparently had something to do with her. Or with them all.  
  
Suddenly, Hamid let out a shout. Asim had drawn a knife and he now plunged it at Ardeth, who whirled to avoid the blade. He grabbed Asim's hand and raised his knee to kick him, but Asim squirmed out of his grasp and dove under Hamid's outstretched arms. Then Asim took to the street, running like a rabbit toward the unfrequented end of the alleyway. Hamid ran after him a couple of steps, bringing his rifle to his shoulder and firing several times without success. At the suggestion of gunplay, Rick also drew his revolver and pointed it. Unfortunately, Ardeth, who was jockeying for position with his own rifle raised, bumped into Rick, knocking him off his feet; the revolver went flying across the steps.   
  
By then Asim had turned a corner and was gone. Many frightened looks were directed toward the Medjai, as pedestrians who had thrown themselves to the ground at the sound of gunfire got up and brushed themselves off. Hamid looked back at Ardeth, asking him something. Ardeth seemed to think for a moment before he shook his head, and Hamid lowered his rifle and went to retrieve Rick's revolver. As Ardeth helped him to his feet, Rick said in frustration, "Damn! I almost had him."   
  
Ardeth, looking as impassive as ever, and not as though one of his men had revealed himself to be a traitor and had tried to kill him, merely said, "I am sorry."   
  
He glanced back to where Asim had disappeared, then turned with a sigh. "Let us go in." Evelyn, shaking off her horror at the whole situation, started again to protest being sent away. Ardeth gave her a small smile and bowed his head, saying, "Perhaps it will be best if you accompany us, after all." He motioned toward the door.   
  
Hamid was the last one into the building; he looked around carefully before he closed the door behind them.  



	5. Thebes

Chapter Five 

Chapter Five

Rick at least waited until the museum doors were closed firmly behind them before speaking.

"What the hell was that all about?"

Ardeth sighed, not breaking his stride. "It is as I told you. There are those who do not understand why I allow you to work with us, and do not simply take the information from you that I need."

Rick looked over his shoulder, half-expecting Asim to be charging up behind them, scimitar drawn. "Another one that doesn't like the Medjai cheapening themselves to talk to us, you mean?"

"If you like." Ardeth shrugged. "It is not important."

"Not important!" Rick exploded. He grabbed Ardeth's arm, forcing the man to a halt, and turned him around to face him. "One of your own men just drew a knife on you. The same man, I might add, that you were getting ready to send off with Evelyn. She could have been killed. You could have been killed. How in the hell is this not important?"

"It is not important because I am still alive," Ardeth replied steadily. "And so is your wife," he added, with a glance behind his shoulder to Evelyn. "Now I must concentrate on making sure that Margaret stays alive as well."

Rick exhaled loudly through his nose. "Okay. You're right." He let go of Ardeth's arm, and they all continued down the hall. "Just watch where you're going next time, will you? You knocked me on my ass out there."

Ardeth made a small sound that might have been a chuckle. "Agreed."

They turned a corner, and Evelyn was pleasantly surprised to find that they were back in the library, her old domain. It felt like another lifetime ago that she had worked here. One glance at Jonathan showed that he was thinking the same thing. They lingered in the doorway while Ardeth and Hamid, followed closely by Rick, strode inside. A generic-looking man in a dark suit sat with paperwork at a far table. He stood at their approach, and the Medjai spoke with him in almost silent voices. Rick stood back a step or two, obviously not understanding what was being said, but wanting to lend the moral support anyway.

After a few minutes of intense but quiet conversation, the librarian produced something from his pocket, which Ardeth took. After a little more talk, the two Medjai bowed a goodbye, and the three returned to Evelyn and Jonathan.

The note was on a small paper, rolled into a scroll and sealed, and then tied with a long piece of braided twine. Ardeth slipped off the twine, broke the seal, and read the note. He sighed heavily and nodded once, handing the paper to Hamid with a few words in Arabic. Evelyn rose on tiptoe to try to read over the Medjai's shoulder, but it proved to be a useless effort, as the note was written in Arabic.

"Well?" Rick asked.

"It is as we thought," Ardeth answered. "They ask me to bring them the Key in exchange for…" His voice trailed off as he looked at the twine that had been tied around the note.

"…for Meg," Rick finished. Ardeth nodded, his attention still caught by the twine in his hand.

"But, my lord," Hamid said, looking up from the note. He spoke English well, and was obviously doing so now in an effort to include the O'Connells in the conversation. "Can we be sure they have the woman? This note speaks of including proof, but there was none. How can we be certain that they are speaking truthfully?"

"They speak the truth," Ardeth answered quietly. Very carefully, he untied the twine, pulling its length slowly through his fingers. "This is their proof."

Rick looked doubtful. "A piece of string?"

Evelyn moved to stand next to Ardeth, taking it out of his hand. She examined it closely, then looked up at Ardeth with wide eyes. "This is her hair," she said. He nodded. "But this," she said, touching a discolored patch on the long strand. "This looks like--"

"Blood." Ardeth finished the sentence for her, his jaw set. He held out his hand, and she laid the lock of hair across his palm. His hand closed firmly around it, clenching it in his fist.

For a few moments, no one spoke. Surprisingly, it was Jonathan who broke the silence.

"So, what now?" His voice was low, subdued by the thought of the blood on Margaret's hair, and how it had gotten there. "Do they have her here, or are we traveling again?"

"Thebes," Ardeth replied. "That is the closest city to Nefertiri's tomb. That is where they will be."

"Then that's where we're going," Rick said immediately.

"I'll get the bags," Jonathan said.

***

Fear was exhausting. Margaret had never been deathly afraid for an extended period of time before, so she had never known how tiring it could be. At this point, she didn't know how long she'd been gone; the days and nights blended together in a nightmare of traveling, first by boat and later by train. She'd kept her head down, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, whenever Omar was anywhere nearby. So far she seemed to have escaped any further notice from him; he hadn't struck her since that one time on the boat.

When they changed from boat to train, it had been the middle of the night. Margaret had been jerked out of an uneasy doze and escorted off the boat and into a car, and then onto a train. Her hands were no longer tied, but she was between two men at all times, each of them holding her arm in a tight grip. She wanted to tell them not to bother; where would she go? She was vaguely nauseous from the sea voyage, and while her captors had not starved her, she had not eaten much more than a little bread and some tea in what felt like forever. The lack of food, combined with the seasickness and fear, left her trembling almost all the time. So even if they had given her the keys to the car and a ten-minute head start, she knew she wouldn't have gotten very far.

It wasn't until the second-- or was it the third?-- day on the train that Margaret became aware of a miraculous, wonderful thing. Omar was gone. She hadn't been sure at first; the men took turns guarding her on the train the same way they had on the boat. And she kept falling asleep and waking up at odd times, so for a while she thought that she had just had the good fortune to sleep through his shifts. But then more time passed, and she still did not see him. She was still a captive, she still didn't know exactly why they had kidnapped her or what they intended to do with her, but her heart lightened just a fraction. Omar wasn't there to sting her with his taunting words, or to grip her threateningly or strike her with his hands, those hands that looked so much like Ardeth's, marked with the same bluish-black spikes.

Ardeth. She was so relieved to know that nothing had happened to him. But they had taken her to get to him. At least, that was what it had sounded like, based upon what was said when they had cut off that bit of her hair. Didn't they know who Ardeth was, and what his priorities were? Omar should, more than anyone; as a fellow Medjai he should know that Ardeth's duty came before anything else. Wasn't that the whole reason they had separated in the first place? He would never choose her. If asked to choose between her and the Key, he would… Panic gripped her stomach all over again. He didn't have the Key. Even if he did choose her, he didn't have the Key. She did. Or she had, back in London. And no one knew that except for her and Ardeth.

She let her head drop into her hands, her thoughts still churning. What was going to become of her?

The train gave a sudden lurch, and with a squeal of brakes, shuddered to a halt. She stood up slowly, and looked out the window. They had pulled into a station. She could just barely read the sign in the moonlight: LUXOR. She tried the name out silently on her tongue. They were a long way from Cairo. What was in Luxor?

She whirled as the door to her compartment opened. There were her ever-present escorts, who stepped forward immediately and grasped her arms, dragging her from the small room and into the hallway and off the train. Bald Man was waiting for them on the platform. He smiled at her as if they were on vacation.

"Welcome to Thebes, my dear," he said pleasantly. "I know it has been a very long trip for you, but it is almost over now."

Margaret wasn't sure if she liked the sound of that. As horrible as this whole journey had been, the idea of anything being "over" had an ominous ring that she didn't like. But she didn't say anything; it would have required energy she just didn't have. She simply nodded her head as she was guided into another car. 

This time, there wasn't even time to doze off before the car stopped again. She looked dully at their destination. It looked like a boardinghouse. And not a very well-built one. It reminded her of some that she had seen while she was growing up in Cairo. As treasures of Ancient Egypt were discovered, more and more archaeologists came to the country. Not all of them were rich and successful, and not all of them could afford to stay in Cairo's luxury hotels. They needed places to stay, and these shabby boardinghouses had gone up practically overnight.

This one was smaller than the ones she remembered in Cairo. Sloppily built, the house seemed to lean in on itself. It was dark inside; no one was there that Margaret could see. It looked like they had this one all to themselves.

***

Thebes. Ardeth had said they were going to Thebes. Rick had looked at Evelyn very strangely when she purchased tickets to Luxor instead. She had then explained to him that Thebes was actually a part of modern-day Luxor. How was he supposed to have known that? He found himself being more and more glad that Evelyn had decided to come along. For one thing, she was a hell of a lot smarter than he was, and he had no problem admitting that. But more importantly, when he closed his eyes at night, all he could see was Margaret cowering in the storage room, dragged bodily from her hiding place by God knows who. And now he could add some kind of bleeding head wound to that morbid waking nightmare. With all that in his brain, he needed Evelyn beside him. He needed to be able to hold her close, and reassure himself that she was all right.

Ardeth traveled with them, but Hamid did not. Ardeth explained that he had sent his lieutenant back to gather a contingent of Medjai and bring them to Thebes. The guard around Nefertiri's tomb would need to be doubled, if not tripled. Even without the Key, Omar and his company were a viable threat.

"And you're sure your men will be there when we get there?"

Ardeth nodded. "They will be a day or two behind us, but yes, they will be there."

"So you don't have any more renegades in your ranks?"

"Ah." Ardeth understood the line of the conversation now. "You do not trust Hamid."

"Did you trust Asim?" Rick shot back.

Ardeth sighed. "Yes. But, O'Connell, I also believe that there is a reason for everything that happens. If Asim were to betray me, there would be nothing I could do about it. And it may be that there is a reason for his actions. And I must trust that that reason will be revealed to me in the fullness of time."

Rick sat back, shaking his head. He turned his attention briefly out the window, and watched the scenery zip by. "You know," he finally said. "Sometimes I'm amazed that you're still alive."

Ardeth was surprised into a genuine laugh. "Sometimes, my friend, so am I."

***

All things considered, the boardinghouse wasn't that bad. Margaret was ensconced in a small bedroom in the first floor, where of course she was guarded at all times. She didn't have any privacy, certainly; the bedroom door was kept open, and she wasn't about to ask if she could close it. But she had an actual bed to sleep on instead of a train seat or the floor of a cargo hold. After a couple of days, she was given a basin of water, and she could wash her face for the first time since her abduction.

She gasped out loud the first time she saw her reflection, in the small mirror near the door. The left side of her face was smeared with dried blood, and as she cleaned it off, she found the blood had come from a wound up near her temple. She touched it tentatively, wincing in pain. The wound wasn't big, and it wasn't deep. But the skin around it was an ugly purple and green, forming a huge bruise that was still very tender. There was another bruise on the right side of her jaw, smaller and not quite as brightly colored, that Omar had given her on the boat. And another one on her left cheek; that must have been where she hit the crates after Omar knocked her down. Her hair, of course, was a fright; she'd lost almost all of her hairpins, and it was now all matted and tangled. She wished she had a comb, but with the condition it was in, she didn't even know if a comb would go through it. 

She took a deep breath and looked in the mirror, making eye contact with herself. "You're going to be all right," she told herself quietly, her voice a rough whisper. "You're going to get through this, and you're going to go home." Home. Saying that word out loud brought a sob to her throat, which she quickly swallowed. She saw Hannah destroying her lipstick. She saw Jonathan grinning to her about something over the dinner table. She saw Rick, happily embracing Evelyn when she came home from the museum. Her family. Her home.

"Besides," she told herself, sternly. "You promised Alex that sweater in his school colors for his birthday. Is it finished yet? No. So you have to get out of here and get home and finish it." But then, of course, thinking of her knitting made her think of what was in her knitting bag. The Key. Even if Ardeth came after the Key, no one knew where she had put it. They'd never find it, and then what would happen to her?

At the other end of the house, the front door slammed shut, startling her out of her thoughts. Two pairs of boots thudded over the wooden floorboards, and she heard the murmur of voices in Arabic. One of those voices hit her ears and her breath froze. She backed slowly away from the mirror, away from the door to her room. 

Omar was back. He was back. He hadn't left for good after all. She continued to back up until her legs hit the corner of the bed, and then she fell to sit down on it. She took a few deep breaths, trying to fill her body with oxygen to stop herself from shaking. Was he coming to her room? She couldn't tell. But she didn't want to just sit there, staring like a startled deer. She turned a little away from the door, forcing her trembling hands up into her hair, to start to work though some of the tangles. Maybe she could keep busy, and he would leave her alone.

She should have known that she would not be so lucky. The boots came nearer, the voices became louder. They were still speaking Arabic. Margaret kept her head down, kept her hands busy with untangling her hair, and tried not to look like she was listening.

"You are certainly not the only one, Omar," the strange voice was saying. "There are many who feel the way you do. As long as he defers to these Westerners, it is clear that he is no longer fit to lead."

"He will pay soon enough," Omar said with a laugh. "For I know Ardeth as well as anyone. And if I am right, he has quite a dilemma on his hands. If he gives us the Key, he will be betraying his people, which will tear him apart inside. But if he does not, well… we have something of his. Something he values very much."

The boots stopped on the threshold of her room. Margaret fought to keep her head down and her expression neutral.

But then Omar switched to English, and she had no choice but to react. "I have returned to you, my lady. Have you missed me?" Somehow, he was able to make his voice sound grand and threatening at the same time. 

She looked up and gasped, not even bothering to hide the surprise on her face. Standing next to Omar was another Medjai! What was going on? All along she had thought that Bald Man had been the leader of this whole affair, but was she wrong? Had the Medjai kidnapped her, to use against Ardeth in some kind of revolution? Did all the Medjai hate her, as Omar did?

"Do you remember her, Asim?" Omar asked, still in English. "The skinny little bitch he was so taken with in Alexandria?"

Asim looked her up and down slowly, as if she were a horse for sale. He shrugged. "I do not see why," he answered, also in English. "She is not so pretty."

Omar laughed. He walked into the room, closer to Margaret, who instinctively scooted further up the bed, trying to put distance between them. "Well, you're not seeing her at her best, Asim." He took a lock of her tangled hair between his fingers, examined it for a moment, then let it fall again. "You could be right, though," he said thoughtfully. "I did see her at her best, in London when we first took her away. And she was nothing special then. Not up to Ardeth's usual standard. He usually likes his whores with a little more color, a little less shy."

Asim shook his head. "It does not seem like much of a choice to me," he said. "Do you really think Ardeth would betray his people for her?"

Omar hovered over Margaret for a few moments longer, taking her chin in his hand and turning her head this way and that, studying her face and the marks he had put there. Then he straightened up with a laugh and returned to his friend. "Perhaps not. But either way, this will be some fun. I have plans for this one." With a chuckle, he switched back to Arabic. Apparently, he wanted to let Margaret rely on her imagination to determine what he had in store for her. But of course, she understood everything he said. She bit down hard on her lips to keep her face as blank as she could, and looked back to her hair. She concentrated on the snarls in her hair, turning her mind away from the filthy things Omar was saying he would do to her body and thought instead about the rose garden behind the house in London. How many different kinds of roses were there? She tried to list them all in her mind: the huge red ones, the small pink ones that climbed the white trellis, the yellow ones that looked like morning sunshine, the cream ones that glowed in the moonlight…

Finally, with an exaggerated bow and a sarcastic "Goodbye, my lady," Omar left the room. Asim lingered in the doorway for the space of a heartbeat; he looked hard at Margaret before he turned to follow his friend. She willed her body to relax, but it took a long time; every muscle had tensed up when they had entered the room. She let her breath sigh out of her slowly. Well, she no longer had to wonder what would become of her. Omar had just made it very clear. He obviously had the rest of her life planned out for her. Her brain took this news in an odd way; she found herself mostly lamenting that she might never finish that sweater for Alex.

***

Another long, tedious, useless day, Rick reflected to himself. Unable to keep still, he prowled through the rooms of the small house they had rented in Luxor, barely able to keep his temper in check. They had arrived late last night, and Ardeth had immediately left them; he said he had certain things to put in motion. Rick envied him, wishing he had something to keep him equally as busy.   
  
"We've been here almost a whole day. What is Ardeth doing? We should be out looking for her."   
  
Evelyn turned away from the window, through which she had been listlessly gazing for most of the evening. The sun had set a long time ago; she had been staring out into complete darkness for at least an hour. "I'm sure he's doing everything he can, Rick," she said, a little reprovingly. "Nobody wants to get Margaret back more than he does."   
  
Jonathan piped up from where he sat on the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table. "Just tell yourself that however unpleasant waiting is for you, it's got to be worse for poor Meg."   
  
"I know, I know." Rick threw himself into a chair, letting his head rest in his hands. This was too much inactivity for him, however, and he sprang up again after just a minute or two. "I just hate this waiting."   
  
"Soon enough, the waiting will be over, my friends." Rick, Evelyn and Jonathan gasped and whirled as one, to see Ardeth standing in the doorway to the darkened dining room. He must have slunk silently in the back way. Before anyone could speak, Ardeth said to Evelyn, "Close those curtains." It was an order, but instead of bridling at his tone, she quickly complied, pulling the heavy drapes together tightly.   
  
Suddenly, they all heard a soft noise coming from the back of the house, like someone was trying to gain entrance without being noticed. Rick raced through the house, his revolver already out. Ardeth was right behind him, Evelyn and Jonathan a cautious step or two back. The back door opened and a dark figure slipped through, closing the door behind him. He turned, only to find himself staring down the barrel of Rick's revolver.   
  
For a long moment, everything froze. The light from the front room was just enough to show who had come in. Asim. Jonathan gasped and grabbed Evelyn's arm, pulling his sister behind him. Rick looked furious and deadly; only the fact that Asim stood stock still kept him from firing.   
  
Quickly, Ardeth took hold of Rick's wrist, and insinuated himself between the gun and Asim. "It is all right," he said quietly. Rick looked back and forth, from one Medjai to the other. Finally, he narrowed his eyes at Ardeth, then abruptly returned his gun to its holster.   
  
"You should have told me."

  
"I wanted to, my friend, believe me." Ardeth's voice was low. "You know that I trust you, and you also know that I would never entrust Evelyn to anyone I did not trust with my own life. But there was never a time when I could be sure we would not be overheard, and this was too important a secret to be revealed. I have been watched continually, I am sure. As have you."   
  
Evelyn clasped her hands together and darted her eyes around the room, as if she expected to see lurkers in the shadows. Jonathan stepped even closer to her, ready to shield her from whatever phantoms leapt out at them.  
  
A rapid stream of Arabic issued forth from Asim. Ardeth stopped him. "Speak English. We have no secrets from O'Connell. He is Medjai." He looked at Rick as if waiting for a protest, but none came.   
  
"Yes, my lord." Asim switched to heavily accented English. "It was as you thought. We were watched in Cairo. Omar came to me there, then brought me here with him. Tonight, he took me to the house where they are hiding. I have seen the woman, Margaret Crane. She is alive."  
  
Ardeth's hand, which had been resting on Asim's arm, now tightened, the knuckles turning white. Asim must have been in some pain, but he did not move or protest. Ardeth let his breath out slowly and loosened his grasp. "And…is she unhurt?" he asked.   
  
Pausing for a few seconds, Asim answered, "There were some bruises, and a small wound on her head. She is afraid, but she seemed otherwise unhurt."   
  
Ardeth's eyes went blank for the space of a few seconds, as if he were looking at something far away. But he quickly brought his attention back to Asim. "And what have you discovered?"   
  
"Not a great deal. They have hired more men, and several large cargo trucks in Cairo."   
  
"A smash and grab job on the tomb, huh?" This from Rick, who looked more and more tense the more he heard.   
  
Asim turned to him and nodded. "Yes. He did not tell me much else. I do not think he trusts me completely yet."   
  
"That is to be expected. When do you meet him again?" Ardeth asked him.   
  
"Tomorrow evening, I am to go back. The next day--"   
  
Ardeth interrupted him. "The next day is when I am to give them the Key, and they will turn over Margaret."   
  
Asim looked down at his boots, hesitating slightly before he continued. "I do not think Omar intends to give her to you. He told me what he intends to do to her. I am to help him, as a sort of test of loyalty." His eyes met Ardeth's. "At least she could not understand him, for he spoke in Arabic."   
  
Rick's face darkened with anger, but Ardeth's expression became even more inscrutable than usual. "She lived in Cairo nearly all of her life," he said in a hollow voice. "She understood every word."  
  
"She did?" Asim sounded surprised. "I did not realize. She did not show it. I am sorry for that. I had taken comfort in thinking she did not know."   
  
There was silence for a moment or two, except for the sounds of Rick cracking his knuckles, his hands in tight fists.   
  
"So," Jonathan interjected, "why don't you-- er,-- we go down there now and get her back? We know where she is now, right?"   
  
"No, we cannot," Asim said. "The men from Cairo are there --"   
  
"And Hamid has not yet returned with my men." Ardeth thought for a moment. "Will she be safe tonight?" he asked.   
  
Asim nodded. "I think so. The old man does not want to harm her or kill her, at least not until they have the Key. He and Omar argued, but he still seems to hold sway. He is paying the men from Cairo, so they obey him for now. I do not believe Omar will openly defy him. Yet."   
  
Ardeth took a deep breath, and placed his hands on Asim's shoulders. "You have done well. Go now, and do only what Omar would expect you to do. He may still have you watched."   
  
With a low, "Yes, my lord," Asim bowed his head and was gone.

Evelyn's face had gone very pale. "We have to get her out of there," she breathed, clutching Jonathan's arm tightly.

Ardeth said nothing for a moment, he simply stared at the door through which Asim had just left. When he turned back to them, his face betrayed no emotion. But those three had known him long enough to recognize the anger that blazed in his eyes. "And we will," he replied. "Come. It is time to start making our plans."  



	6. "Let's do this."

Chapter Six

"No!"

That single word, barked out loudly in Arabic, jerked Margaret awake. She rolled to her side, blinking sleep from her eyes, a little disoriented. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the window. She must have fallen asleep again. 

"No," the voice repeated. It was coming from the front room, but the thin walls and the open door made it easy for her to hear what was said. The voice sounded like Bald Man's, but this was the first time she had heard his voice raised in anger. "I grow tired of this same argument with you. We have offered a trade to your leader and we will honor that trade."

Margaret slid off the bed as silently as she could. She crept across the room to stand as near to the door as possible without attracting the attention of the ever-present guard. This conversation sounded like it was about her, and she wanted to hear it.

"You will still have what you want," another voice, Omar's, argued back in the same language. "What does it matter if she is dead or alive?"

"It will matter," Bald Man's voice continued, the anger gone, the cold specificity returning, "when he refuses to give me the Key in return for a corpse. I have come too far to fail now. You have promised me Nefertiri's tomb, and I have paid you very well for it. This little business with the woman was an unforeseen difficulty, but it is nearly over now. But I have no intention of allowing your personal feelings in this issue to ruin everything."

Omar started to argue again, but Bald Man cut him off. "No. Let this be an end to it. She will be kept alive."

"Very well." Omar's voice was tight, and he obviously did not care for this decision at all. Margaret swallowed hard, feeling as if she had gotten some kind of reprieve.

"Now tell me," Bald Man continued. "Is everything else in order?"

"Yes," Omar replied. "I have been to the tomb. It is well guarded by a great many of Ardeth's men."

"But not for long?"

"Indeed. Men who are loyal to me will take it in the morning. There will be no warning. By the time you secure all you need to enter the tomb, you will have no further impediment."

"Good." And that appeared to be the end of the conversation. She heard boots in the hallway, and backed away from the door swiftly, whirling around to look out the window with as nonchalant an expression as she could muster. She clasped her hands in front of her, her nails digging into her own palms. No one could know that she just heard a debate about whether or not she stayed alive.

Boots walked into her room. Not quickly, not slowly; they maintained a leisurely pace, as if they had all day. Margaret's back stiffened instinctively, but she did not turn around.

Hands. Hands on her shoulders, clamping down firmly in a grip that almost hurt. She turned her head to the side and looked, a little dazed, at the bluish-black spiked tattoo that graced the back of the hand on her right shoulder. For a short moment, she indulged in the fantasy that the hands belonged to Ardeth, and that he had come to whisk her to safety. She could almost hear his voice, softly saying her name. But it was a very different voice that murmured close to her ear, a voice that dripped with so much acid that it yanked her rudely back to reality.

"Do you enjoy the view, my lady?" He was standing very close to her, and she could feel his breath across her cheek. Everything inside her wanted to flinch away from him, but she forced herself to remain still. "You should," he continued. "You will not see it for very much longer."

She turned then, backing a step away from him. Her lower back pressed painfully into the windowsill. "But…" She closed her mouth just as she started to speak. She had been about to say that he wasn't supposed to kill her, but he didn't know that she'd overheard that conversation, much less understood it.

"But what, my lady?" Omar seemed amused by her fear and confusion. "Do you think yourself a powerful bargaining tool? Do you think that Ardeth is racing to your rescue right now, ready to risk his life for a little English whore? Do you think that your body is worth that much to him?"

She stared at him with wide eyes, too shocked by his words to do anything but answer him truthfully. "It wasn't like that." Her voice sounded strange in her own ears, dulled and a little raspy from lack of use. "That's not what I was to him. I'm not a…"

Her voice was drowned out by Omar's laughter, loud and condescending. "Of course you are!" he said. He seemed genuinely amused by her misunderstanding. "Did you ever think otherwise? Did you think he loved you?" Omar shook his head in a gesture of mock-sympathy. "No, no, my lady. You should have known better than to think that. Think on this." He leaned towards her now, placing a hand flat on the window on either side of her head, caging her with his arms and his body. She shrank back as far as she could, the cool glass pressing against her back. "If he had loved you, would he have let you go so easily?" He shook his head slowly, answering his own question. "He did, though, did he not? He sent you back to England, and then he was between another woman's legs that night. And a different one's still the next."

Margaret shook her head, hard. "No." He had loved her. Hadn't he said so? Her mind searched frantically for a memory, anything that would remind her of what he had really felt, what they had really meant to each other. But with Omar's words in her mind, and his menacing form so close to her, her memories betrayed her. She only thought of how easily Ardeth had given in to her argument that they could not stay together. How quickly he had agreed that they should part. How long had they really spent together, anyway? A handful of days, even if you went back to their first acquaintance, which of course had ended with him nearly killing her. And then, there were those few days in Alexandria. Had she been a fool? Had she mistaken lust for love? "No," she said again, but her voice was not as strong this time.

"Yes." Omar's voice was low, triumphant. It was like he was reading her mind; he could sense her doubt. "You meant nothing to him. You were simply another whore, one of a great many he has enjoyed in his lifetime. You were gone from his mind the moment you left his sight. Even now, he has forgotten your face.

"But don't worry, my lady." He raised a hand, and she flinched back, anticipating a blow. But instead, two of his fingertips trailed down her cheek in the suggestion of a caress. He leaned in closer to her, as if he would kiss her. "We shall remind him. Oh, yes. When we are through, he will never forget you."

There was nowhere to back away to. Margaret's stomach heaved at his nearness, but she could not get away from him. His hand moved slowly from her cheek to her throat, then further down; he traced the curve of her breast with a single finger, while Margaret swallowed her nausea. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her head turned to the side, trying to put any kind of distance between them. Instead of kissing her, though, his lips moved back to her ear, whispering as if he were telling her a romantic secret. "All of us will have a turn. You will accommodate us all, one after another, hour after hour. We will use you well, little whore. Then we will stake your broken body out in the desert for him to find. I promise that when he finds you, he will never forget the sight of you."

His teeth bit her earlobe, tugging at it painfully, and Margaret cried out then, more in fear than in pain. He let go of her, pushing himself away from the wall and from her. He backed away a step or two. "Be ready, my lady," he said. "You will make far more noise than that before we are through with you." And he was gone, his steps a swagger as he left the room.

Margaret's legs could no longer hold her up. Still braced against the window, she sank to the floor, not even noticing the pain of the windowsill as it scraped against her back. She stared at the floorboards blankly, his words ringing in her ears. So that was it, then. This was how she was going to die. She marveled at the fact that she wasn't crying. But there were simply no tears left.

***

"I want you to stay here." Rick held his breath as he said this, waiting for an argument. To his vast surprise, none came. Evelyn just nodded.

"Of course," she said. "Just don't take too long, all right? You know I don't like worrying."

Rick wrapped his arms around his wife and held her tight, indulging in a private smile at the way they still fit so well after all this time. He kissed the top of her head. "We'll be as quick as we can. Just unpack some of Meg's things, okay? She's going to be here real soon, and I'll bet she'd really like a change of clothes."

Evelyn nodded against his chest. "I'll have everything laid out for her." She squeezed him tighter and then tilted her head up for a kiss. "Do I have to tell you to be careful?"

"Nope. But why don't you anyway."

Evelyn smiled at his joke. "Be careful."

"You bet." They walked back out to the living room, where everyone else was. "Everyone else," in this case, being Jonathan and a couple of dozen Medjai, who had slipped into the house one or two at a time as soon as the sun had set. The Englishman looked a little lost in the sea of black robes and automatic weaponry. Rick pulled him aside. "Look, I want you to stay here with Evelyn, okay? Keep an eye on the house."

It was now that Rick got the argument that he had been expecting. It just came from a different Carnahan. "No." Jonathan's voice was firm. "I'm going."

Rick blinked. Was this really his brother-in-law? Before he could say anything, Jonathan continued. "You need all the help you can get. I'm a good shot. You know that. Besides," he added, his eyes twinkling with just a trace of mischief, "someone has to stay with the car."

"Which you do better than anyone," Rick replied, raising an eyebrow.

"That is actually a good plan," Ardeth broke in. He had stepped away from his men at the tail end of this conversation. "This could go any one of a hundred ways. If we are able to find her quickly, it would be good to have someone in a car to get her to safety right away."

"There, you see?" Jonathan said. "If anyone knows how to get away to safety, it's me." His remarks were self-deprecating, but his voice was firm. He would not be left behind.

"Okay," Rick finally answered. He plucked a sheet of paper off the coffee table, which was a map of the house where Margaret was being held. "The back door's right here. I want you to be right there," He stabbed a finger onto the map, not far from the back entrance. "And watch for Meg. The second you see her out of the house, you get her and you bring her here. Understood?"

"Crystal clear," Jonathan replied. 

"My lord." Hamid interrupted the conversation, with a nodded bow to Ardeth. "Everything is prepared, and we have heard from Asim. He is on his way to the house now, and he will attempt to open the back door from inside, so that you and O'Connell can enter that way."

Ardeth nodded, and Hamid bowed again and left. Rick opened one of his revolvers, checking it again. "You know," he said. "I may be a Medjai, like you say..."

"You are." Ardeth did not look up from the map he was studying for the five hundredth time.

Rick clicked the gun shut, holstering it. "But I'm not doing that bowing thing. And I'm not calling you 'my lord' either."

Ardeth looked up then, with the first thing resembling a smile since they had arrived in Luxor. "My friend," he said. "I would never expect that of you."

Rick nodded, a smile twitching at his mouth. "Just so we're clear." He clapped Ardeth on the shoulder. "Come on," he said. "Let's do this."

***

  
Afternoon stretched into evening and on into night, while Margaret did nothing but sit on her bed, staring dully into space. Her captors had brought her food, but she had been unable to get anything past the nauseous feeling that Omar's words had produced. Her mind seemed to have gone numb, unable to absorb any more horror. Omar had stopped later that afternoon to lean against her doorframe and glare at her, but she could hardly focus on his face. He had seemed pleased, however, and walked away with a laugh. She had no idea when Ardeth was supposed to bring the Key. But he didn't have it, didn't even know where it was. And at any rate, she meant nothing to him. He had his duty to perform. Even if he had the Key, he would never turn it over to these men. Omar was right, her body was not worth that much. And if she didn't mean anything to Ardeth, then she was worthless to the little bald man. He would let Omar do whatever he wanted. How soon would it be, she wondered, before he came for her, dragging her out of her room…   
  
She sat up suddenly, her dismal reverie interrupted, as the night exploded into sound and action. Gunfire! She heard gunfire from outside the house, and the sounds of shouting men and running feet inside. She jumped to her feet, her torpor gone in an instant. Her heart raced, she clasped her hands tightly in a useless effort to stop herself trembling. Had Ardeth come for her?   
  
No, it couldn't be. They were just shooting blindly at the house. More likely, the plan was simply to kill everyone inside, and erase all danger that these men would use the Key. After all, what was she to the Medjai? Just another Westerner, another English whore. It didn't matter to them if she lived or died.   
  
Her guard was moving away from her door, unsure whether to join the fighting. She thought about trying to run. Could she get away? Or would she be cut down without a second thought, even if she could get to a door? Perhaps it would be better to simply wait here. If the Medjai took the house before she was killed, perhaps they would let her go.   
  
Then she heard gunfire from inside the house, obscenely loud, making her cringe. They were fighting back. Omar's voice rose above the rest, urging the men on. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed as though his voice was getting closer to her room. She shrank back at the thought that he would be coming here now. A vision of Omar carrying her out of the back of the house while the fighting raged on in front flew into her mind. She had to get away. Better to be killed outright by the Medjai than to live through what Omar had planned for her.   
  
The sound of breaking glass came to her, and her guard, making up his mind, ran madly toward the front rooms. Now was her chance. She peeked quickly out of her room; to the right was a hallway that ended in a window. But the sounds of gunfire came to her from that direction, so that was no good. To the left was another long hallway that turned a corner, toward the back of the house. Nobody seemed to be down that way, maybe she could find her way to a back door. She had to try.   
  
With a deep breath, she plunged down the hallway. She was weak from hunger and fear and lack of movement, but she sped as quickly as she could to the corner and around. Were those running footsteps following her? Afraid to take the time to look back, she raced on, past many doors, turning several more corners, trying not to become disoriented. There, that looked like a kitchen, near a back stairway. Surely she would find a back door there.   
  
Margaret stopped suddenly, catching herself on the stair railing, her heart in her throat. Someone was coming in through the back! There were shadows and the thudding of booted feet in the kitchen. And she could now definitely hear someone following her. Not knowing what else to do, she launched herself up the stairs, her legs feeling like jelly. She had to use the banister to pull herself to the top of the stairs.  
  
There were more rooms up here, on either side of a long hallway that ended in a landing overlooking the front of the house. Margaret walked quickly, peering into the darkened rooms. To her horror, they were all completely empty. Where could she hide?   
  
The sounds of chaos filtered up to her here, still very loud, but the loudest noise was the pounding of her heart. She stopped dead in her tracks as the sounds of shouting voices separated themselves from the clamorous madhouse and floated up the stairs. One, an indistinct rumble, the other, apparently answering. That second one was Asim's voice, saying in Arabic, "She is upstairs, I saw her run --" He must have been the one following her. And he had just told Omar where she was. Then came the sound of someone rapidly mounting the stairs. Her search turned desperate now, and she threw herself into the first room that held anything at all. But it was only some bits and pieces of old furniture: a table, several broken chairs, an old mattress slumped against the wall, a wardrobe with no doors. Where could she go? There was nowhere to hide, and the footsteps were coming nearer.   
  
The footsteps slowed slightly as they reached the upper floor. They became more methodical; a step or two, then stop, another couple of steps, then stop. Margaret knew exactly what was happening. She could see Omar in her mind, his face contorted with fury, looking in one room after another, seeing nothing, moving to the next. It wouldn't be long…   
  
Margaret stood just inside the doorway, panting and looking around her wildly. He was coming, and he would find her and kill her. What could she possibly have to lose? Before she knew what she was doing, she snatched up a broken chair leg and backed into the shadows between the wardrobe and the corner. She was through with hiding under furniture. As she waited in the shadows, she knew that this was a futile gesture. Omar would overpower her in a matter of moments. After that, the rest of her life would be measured in minutes. Knowing this, it suddenly became very important that she fight for whatever time she had left. She tightened her grip on the makeshift weapon.  
  
Then she saw him. His figure was a silhouette, barely illuminated by the dim lights from below . He stepped into the room and did a slow turn, then stopped facing her corner. Had he seen her? Margaret bit down on her tongue to stifle the scream she could feel bubbling up inside her, and closed her eyes tight, praying for this nightmare to end. Now she couldn't hear the sounds from downstairs at all, though they were still fighting down there. The only sound was the steady thump of the boots coming closer and closer. She braced herself to bring the chair leg down as hard as she could.   
  
"Margaret."   
  
Her eyes snapped open. That wasn't Omar's sneering voice, or his hard, cold eyes looking at her. Ardeth. She tried to breathe, tried to move, tried to say something, but she could only stare numbly at those eyes that burned into hers. It seemed an eternity that they gazed at each other, not speaking, hardly breathing. The chair leg clattered to the floor, released by Margaret's nerveless fingers.   
  
Then the shouting and the gunfire forced itself on her notice again. She heard Omar's enraged shout of, "Find the woman!" and boots thudding all over the house, up the stairs. Quickly, Ardeth grabbed Margaret's arm and hauled her out of the corner, out the door, and down the hall. They made for the stairs, but there were already men coming up. He brought up his gun and fired. Margaret gave a little shriek and clapped her hands to her ears as the automatic weapon spewed round after round, thundering in her ears. She wanted to throw herself on the ground and curl up in a ball, but Ardeth's back pressed her into the wall, forcing her to stay on her feet. She could feel his body vibrating from the recoil, and she could just see the line of his jaw, set firmly. The men down below scattered and took cover.   
  
Backing up slowly, Ardeth opened fire whenever one of the men dared to show his face. With his left arm, he kept Margaret behind him as they moved, step by deliberate step, down the hall, away from the stairs. A few men below tried to shoot at Margaret and Ardeth, but the landing was too wide, and the bullets crashed alarmingly but harmlessly into the woodwork over their heads. To get a better shot, those downstairs would have to expose themselves to the deadly fire of the Thompson.   
  
Suddenly, an arm shot out of an open door and grabbed Margaret around the neck, choking off her voice mid-scream, and almost dragging her off her feet. Ardeth turned instantly, using momentum to knock the man down, forcing him to let go of Margaret. She landed with a thud against the wall, and then just sat there, attempting to shake off her confusion. Ardeth and the man were fighting now; a blow to the shoulder caused Ardeth to drop his weapon. It skittered across the floor and came to rest near Margaret's feet. She looked at it in horror, feeling that she should pick it up. But she had never so much as held a gun in her life. She would be just as likely to shoot Ardeth as the other man. She couldn't bring herself to touch it.   
  
She heard more shouting. The men from below! They were taking advantage of Ardeth's distraction to start back for the stairs again. Margaret began to cry out a warning, when the first man, several steps up, was blown backwards. But the shot came from below. Someone was downstairs, helping them. Margaret winced as another man was shot, then Omar's people seemed to rally themselves and started firing at the unseen attacker.   
  
The man fighting Ardeth fell onto the floor near Margaret; she shrank back from him as he reached out, until she realized with a start that he wasn't reaching for her, he was reaching for the gun. Margaret gasped, knowing she had to do something. She might not be able touch it, but she could kick it, and this she did, sending the weapon sliding out of his grasp. Then Ardeth was yanking him to his feet, and they began a strange sort of dance, grappling and wrestling for control. Ardeth landed several blows, but the man held on to Ardeth's robes with a death grip and would not let go.   
  
Margaret rose shakily to her feet, trying to stay out of the way of the two fighting, swaying men. Finally, with a primitive bellow, Ardeth slammed the other man into the wall, causing his head to loll drunkenly. Pivoting his body, Ardeth heaved the man away from him, sending him into the landing rail. With a loud crack and a hail of splintered wood the railing collapsed, plunging the man off the landing.   
  
That was when they saw it. Ardeth and Margaret watched in horror as the Key, yanked from Ardeth's robes by the struggle, rolled along to the floor, toward the edge of the landing. He threw himself at the Key, pitching with a crash onto the floor, his outstretched fingers just missing it. Margaret could only look on helplessly as the Key fell to the floor below. Then Ardeth launched himself backwards as the men below fired a salvo at him. The Key was gone.   
  
As if to tease them, the bald man's voice could be heard crowing triumphantly, "The Key! I have the Key!" They could hear Omar's voice, giving indistinguishable orders, then many men began firing at the landing. The bullets chewed the wood over their heads, and Ardeth dragged Margaret down beside him, out of harm's way. She stared at him wide eyed. "The Key," she breathed, echoing the little bald man.   
  
"It does not matter," Ardeth replied, a little breathlessly. "They will not be able to use it."   
  
"But…" Margaret began. Then she stopped. It sounded as if only one or two guns were firing at them now. Suddenly the firing ceased completely, and there were the sounds of running and shouting men, and slamming doors. From outside, they could hear large engines roaring to life. They looked at each other blankly for a moment, then Ardeth jumped to his feet, pulling Margaret up and retrieving his weapon.   
  
It was instantly apparent why the men had left. They had set fire to the house. There were flames in the front of the house, and Omar's men must have deliberately set a large fire on the stairs, because they were already completely impassable. Taking Margaret's arm, Ardeth raced down the hall toward the back of the house, only to find the way blocked by flames along that landing as well.   
  
By now, the crackling of the fire was growing very loud. The house began to fill with heat and smoke, the dry wooden frame burned like kindling. Their eyes were starting to burn and water, and a spasm of coughing shook Margaret. Ardeth tore off a kerchief-sized piece of fabric from his sash and pressed it over her nose and mouth. Once she brought up her hand to hold it there herself, he did the same for himself with the other end of the sash. Pushing Margaret ahead of him, he backtracked quickly toward the front, and headed right at the landing, to a duplicate of the window Margaret had seen from her room on the first floor. They both tugged desperately at the window, but it refused to budge, frozen in place by paint and time. Raising the butt of his weapon, Ardeth broke the glass, rapidly clearing it out of the edges of the sash.   
  
Margaret looked out. It seemed an endless distance to the ground. "How can we get down?" she asked, a note of despair in her voice.   
  
"We jump," Ardeth answered steadily.   
  
Margaret looked at him as if he were mad, shaking her head. "It's too far," she said, her voice a terrified whisper.   
  
"Come," was all he said, motioning her to the window.   
  
She bit her lip, and glanced back at the house. The open window was acting like a magnet, pulling the flames toward them. She turned her eyes to the window, just as the sound of breaking glass was carried up to them. They both looked down as Rick came hurtling out of the window directly below them, jumping to his feet almost as soon as he hit the ground, still holding his shotgun. "Rick!" Margaret couldn't contain her shout of joy. He heard her and looked up, dropping his gun and positioning himself below them.   
  
"Come on!" he shouted up at them.   
  
"Now," said Ardeth, picking her up and thrusting her feet-first out the window, "it is not so far."   
  
She had time only for a panicked "No!" before she found herself suspended helplessly in mid-air. Ardeth had hold of her wrists, and was leaning far out the window, dangling her above Rick. Then he let go.   
  
She fell into Rick's arms with a startled cry, knocking them both to the ground; Rick twisted his body so he landed under her. He grunted in pain, and Margaret rolled off of him to sit up. Rick sat up too, brushing a jagged piece of broken glass out of his arm with a careless gesture that opened a cut. Blood started trickling down his arm.   
  
Margaret reached for his arm, her eyes wide at the sight of the blood. "Rick…"   
  
"Doesn't matter. Come on." He was on his feet, pulling her to hers. Just then, the Thompson clattered to the ground near her feet. Ardeth landed next to it in an easy crouch, scooping up the gun as he stood. He and Rick pulled her back, away from the burning house that had so recently been her prison. She heard the roar of an engine behind her. A car zipped up and screeched to a stop. She turned to see Jonathan throwing the car door wide and running towards them.   
  
She looked at Rick dazedly. With all the running and fighting and jumping out of windows over, she suddenly found it very hard to focus on anything. "You came for me. You all came for me." She couldn't hear herself over the noise of the flames, so she couldn't be sure that she actually spoke.   
  
Evidently she had, because Rick answered her. "Of course we did." And he had pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she had trouble breathing. But she didn't move; she just closed her eyes and let herself be held. She was safe. She tried to get her mind around those three words. Omar couldn't hurt her anymore. Rick was there. Ardeth was there. She was safe.   
  
Rick pulled back then, cupping her face in his hands. "Are you okay?" Margaret gritted her teeth and tried not to wince as his fingers pressed down on the bruises on either side of her face. But he noticed; he pulled her hair back and examined her face closely. The fire from the house lit up the night; her face was illuminated like she was standing under a lamp. Rick swore under his breath. "Who did this to you? I swear to God, I'm gonna--"   
  
"Meg!" Jonathan had reached them then, and she turned just in time to be caught up in another embrace. He pressed her close, then held her at arm's length. "Are you all right? Well, of course you're all right, except for that nasty bump on your head. Come on, let's get you into the car. Evy's waiting at the house."   
  
"Evy…" Margaret repeated, nonplussed. She let Jonathan lead her to the car. "The whole family's here…" she murmured.   
  
He smiled down at her. "Well, of course we are, love. You think we're just going to let the bad guys run off with one of our own?" He opened the rear door, pulling out a blanket and wrapping it around her. "There you are. Now, get in…"   
  
While Jonathan clucked over her like a mother hen, she could vaguely hear Rick and Ardeth talking. She couldn't hear them very well; she could only make out phrases. "…have the Key…" "…guards at the tomb…" "..easily stop a few grave robbers…" Something nagged at her mind. She knew something, something important. Pressing her fingertips to her forehead, she tried to think, tried to clear through all the confusion and horror and relief at being safe. And then she had it.   
  
"Oh!" She opened the car door Jonathan had just closed and swung her legs out. "Wait, wait, wait!" she cried, startling them all.   
  
"What is it, Meg?" Rick asked. "I hope you didn't forget something in the house, because I'm not going after it, whatever it is."   
  
She shook her head impatiently. "Guards," she repeated. She looked at Ardeth now for the first time since they had escaped the house. "You said guards. Do you mean at the tomb? Nefertiri's tomb?"   
  
He nodded, stepping closer to the car. His eyes glittered in the firelight, and she saw his face darken just a little as he took in the damage done to her face. She in turn faltered just a little as she looked up at him. The house had been dark, and she hadn't really seen his face yet. Now that she did, she had to fight to draw a breath and remember what she was going to say. "They know about the guards. They're planning to attack the tomb tomorrow morning and get your men out of the way."   
  
Ardeth looked thunderstruck. "Are you sure?"   
  
She nodded hard. "They were talking about it today."   
  
"Did they see you listening?"   
  
"No." A small, slightly hysterical giggle escaped her lips as reality continued to sink in. She was safe. She was truly safe. "They didn't know I speak Arabic."   
  
Ardeth nodded once, as if he was getting information from a lieutenant. "Good." He glanced over to Rick. "Go now. Get her to safety." And he was gone, running through the darkness and away. Dumbfounded, Margaret watched him go. Then Rick was climbing into the car beside her, and Jonathan jumped behind the wheel and they were also gone, speeding away as the boardinghouse burned to the ground. 


	7. More Bloody Waiting

Chapter Seven

The front door flew open with a crash. Evelyn jumped to her feet, whirling and bringing up the pistol that had been laying in her lap. But then her entire body relaxed, while her eyes widened.

"Dear God." She dropped the pistol into the chair. Jonathan held the door open, and Rick helped Margaret inside. She was streaked with soot and blood, her face was bruised, and she clung to Rick as if she could barely stand. 

Evelyn took charge immediately, directing Rick to bring her into the bathroom. She drew a bath for Margaret, helping her in as if she were another one of her children. Margaret didn't say much; her eyes looked tired and dazed. Evelyn stayed with her, helping her wash the dirt and blood off her body and out of her hair, which took some time. She had a cut on the side of her head that was partially healed, and was surrounded by a large angry bruise; it looked to Evelyn like Margaret had been struck very hard there, and the blow had probably been enough to render her unconscious. She washed the wound carefully, noting the other bruises on her face, as well as a few here and there on her body, mostly on her upper arms.

Margaret hissed a little as Evelyn touched the wound on her temple. "I'm sorry," Evelyn murmured. "Does that hurt still?"

Margaret blinked quickly and took a shaking breath. "It's all right," she said quietly. Her voice was a little raspy. She ran a sponge up and down her arms absently, even though all the soap had already been rinsed away.

Evelyn shook her head. "It's not all right. I'm going to send for a doctor in the morning. We need to make sure this isn't too serious."

Margaret looked too tired to argue, she simply nodded her head as Evelyn helped her out of the bath and into her nightgown and dressing gown. Evelyn took her into the other bedroom and sat her down on the edge of the bed. Picking up Margaret's comb from where she had laid it on the dressing table, she settled herself on the bed behind Margaret and started combing out her still-damp hair. It wasn't long, however, before this proved to be a lost cause. Left uncombed and unwashed for so many days, much of her nearly hip-length hair was simply too matted and tangled to get a comb through.

"Oh, dear," Evelyn murmured. She slid off the bed and patted Margaret's arm. "I'm going to have to go get the scissors. I'm sorry, but we're going to have to cut some of this."

Margaret looked dispassionately at her hair. "Oh." She didn't move, she just drew her dressing gown around her a little more tightly as Evelyn left the room.

Evelyn searched through the drawers in the kitchen until she found a pair of scissors. While she wasn't thrilled with the idea of cutting hair with kitchen shears, it was all that was available at the moment. She turned to go back to Margaret's room when the front door opened again, and she heard voices in the front room. She looked into the living room to see Ardeth there, talking quickly and quietly to Rick. Rick's face looked grim, and he was nodding slowly. 

Rick glanced up and saw his wife in the hallway. He motioned her over. "Something else is going on, isn't it?" she asked, a cold feeling settling in her stomach.

Rick nodded. "Meg overheard some of their plans. They're going to take over the tomb tomorrow, and we have to stop them."

  
Evelyn nodded with a sigh, her mouth compressing into a tight line. "And you have to leave right now?" Her voice sounded tired, resigned.

"We must," Ardeth replied. "I have reason to believe they will attack my guards at first light. We must use the time before that to prepare."

"Will you be okay?" Rick asked his wife.

"Yes," she replied. "Jonathan and I will stay here and look after Margaret. We'll be fine. Just come back soon. Please."

"You know it." Rick drew his wife close, embracing her tightly for a moment. Evelyn glanced over her husband's shoulder at Ardeth, who was looking down the hallway. She turned her head, following his gaze to the bedroom door that she had left partway open. She could just see the sleeve of Margaret's dressing gown and her right hand from where she still sat on the edge of the bed.

"She's all right," Evelyn said softly, reaching out and placing a hand on Ardeth's arm.

"Is she?" His eyes did not waver, so he did not see Evelyn nod in response to his question.

"She's very tired, and I think a little dazed. But it doesn't look like she was hurt very badly. She's going to be fine."

Ardeth did not move for another moment, then he closed his eyes and nodded. Opening his eyes again, he turned back to Rick. "We must go now." Rick nodded in agreement, kissing Evelyn once before leaving the house. After they were gone, Evelyn threw the bolt to the front door. She didn't want any more visitors that night.

***

Margaret was very quiet while Evelyn took the scissors to her hair. She wasn't nearly as upset about losing nearly half of its length as she would have imagined. Perhaps it was a matter of putting everything into perspective. A few hours ago, she had been facing a very brutal, violent end to her life. Now she was sitting, clean and comfortable, in her nightgown while her sister-in-law cut the mats and snarls out of her hair. And it just didn't seem that upsetting. She watched in dulled fascination as great handfuls fell away.

"There," Evelyn finally said, putting the scissors down and combing once more through the now smooth and tangle-free locks. Margaret's hair now fell to the middle of her shoulder blades. "That's better. When we get back to Cairo, we'll get this trimmed properly."

"Cairo?" Margaret repeated, her brow furrowing slowly, as if she were thinking through a fog. "Why are we going to Cairo?"

"We came to Luxor by way of Cairo," Evelyn explained, sweeping up the loose strands of hair and throwing them away. "We'll catch a boat there to go home. But don't worry about that now." She turned down the bed, helping Margaret out of her dressing gown and into bed. "Get some rest, all right? And we'll have you see a doctor in the morning."

Margaret nodded. "Evelyn?" She caught her sister-in-law's hand as she stood to go. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you for coming after me."

Evelyn squeezed her hand. "I'm just glad we found you." With that, she turned off the light and left Margaret to her rest.

But Margaret couldn't sleep. She lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. When she closed her eyes, vivid, frightening memories came to her, so that after a time she stopped closing her eyes at all. She had felt this way once before, she remembered. In Alexandria, during all that business with those artifacts from Hamunaptra. Unable to sleep, she had gone downstairs for a glass of water. Ardeth had frightened her out of her wits in the kitchen. And then…

She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to dismiss the memory. Omar had said that she meant nothing to Ardeth, and that she never had. She hadn't believed him at the time, not really; she had thought that Omar was making up lies just to frighten her. But that was before she had seen Ardeth again. Yes, he had come to her rescue, and he had seen her safely out of the burning house. But while Rick and Jonathan had both embraced her out of relief and love, he had stayed far away. The one pair of arms she craved the most had stayed out of her reach. 

They had talked, of course, briefly. Just the one time, when she had remembered about that ambush that Omar had planned. But he had spoken to her just as he would speak to one of his men. There had been nothing, in his eyes or his voice, to indicate that she was anything special to him.

And then just a little while ago... Evelyn had gone to get the scissors, and left the door partially open. Margaret heard voices in the front of the house, and one of those voices was Ardeth's. She'd know it anywhere. But then he had left again almost immediately. He didn't want to see her.

Margaret opened her eyes once more, staring straight up at nothing. She wanted to cry; her already-broken heart had been shattered all over again, and the pain was more than she thought she could handle. But with everything she had been though, her tears had been all used up. Her eyes were as dry as the desert outside. And her heart felt just as empty.

***

It was just before dawn when Rick and Ardeth rode into the tomb complex several hours later. Rick had wanted to bring the car, but Ardeth and his men were on horseback, and had brought a horse for Rick as well. What could he do? They seemed determined to make a Medjai out of him. He reflected that it was probably better this way; now Jonathan would have the car if he needed it.   
  
Rick had been a little surprised before that a rich tomb so near a city should have gone undiscovered. He was less surprised now. High, soft dunes, stretching out as far as the eye could see, like an ocean made of sand, surrounded the tomb on three sides. They looked completely impassable, but Ardeth guided them on an unmarked, twisting path through and over the dunes. As they came out to the more level ground of the tomb, Rick could see that the fourth side was overlooked by a high cliff. He couldn't see anyone, but he was sure there were more Medjai up on that cliff.   
  
An unearthly silence blanketed everything. The night insects had stopped their noises, while morning sounds had not yet begun. The horses made not a sound in the sand. As they rode through the opening in the wall, there was no challenge issued, no password given. Rick leaned over toward Ardeth, feeling like he had to whisper. "Where are your guards?" he hissed. "Shouldn't they be keeping watch?"   
  
"They are here," was Ardeth's low reply. Then Rick's eyes began to pick them out; men standing here and there, still but alert, their black robes making them nearly invisible in the darkness. The silence, the dimness only just beginning to be lit by the grey light of dawn, the black-clad men standing like statues, all combined to give an otherworldly feeling. Rick suddenly wondered if any of this was due to the effect of the tomb itself. For the first time, he allowed himself to think about what --who -- lay within the tomb, and he shivered. "Creepy," he murmured under his breath. Then he gave himself a shake. This was no time to get spooked; they had a job to do.   
  
Soon enough, the day began to dawn in earnest. As the shadows were driven away by the rising sun, the area assumed a more normal air. Or as normal an air as a several-thousand-year-old tomb guarded by scores of desert warriors could have. There was hustle and bustle, as Ardeth began to issue orders, and men moved about purposefully. The horses were led away, and Ardeth directed Rick and the Medjai who had accompanied them to an area outside the outer wall, behind the tomb.   
  
Gesturing to one of his men, Ardeth said to Rick, "This is Abdul, he speaks a little English. I leave you in charge of these men." He went on, ignoring Rick's protests. "I will attempt to stop Omar's men at the tomb. I do not know how many men he has, so I want you in reserve. If things go ill, I will need your help."   
  
Ardeth gave a quick order to his men, gesturing toward O'Connell, then turned and quickly headed toward the tomb.   
  
Rick watched, dumbfounded, as Ardeth's figure dwindled in the distance. In his mind, he planned a number of violent things he was going to do to him if they got out of this alive. Then he laid a hand on Abdul's shoulder. "So, you speak English. That's good, you'll have to be my interpreter. Now, we need to scout out the situation real quick, and then decide how we're going to do this. Got any suggestions?"   
  
Abdul smiled. "English, yes. How are you? I am pleased to meet you."   
  
Choking down a sigh, Rick looked at Abdul for a long moment, then clapped him on the back. "Good. I'm real good. Nice to meet you, too. Okay, then." While in his head, he had a conversation with himself. "Shit! No, it's all right, I've done this before, remember? Okay, the Legion was a while ago, but not that long. I fought with men then who didn't speak my language, I can do it again. I just learned a few words in French, and….hey. Maybe…"   
  
Out loud, he said, "Anyone speak French? Français? Good, a couple of you." Under his breath, he muttered, "Now, if only I could remember it." Slowly, stumbling over the half-forgotten words, he tried to make them understand what he needed. How many tomb guards? Trente-- thirty. How many men did Omar have? Nobody knew for certain, but Rick didn't need a translator to know that they were alarmed and dismayed at the thought of traitors in their ranks. With many gestures, some halting French on his part, and halting English on Abdul's, they were able to communicate. He thought so, at least.   
  
From their vantage point behind the outer wall, they could just see Ardeth. He stood alone on top of the outer wall, near the one opening at the front, which had at one time held a gate. The gate was long since gone, fallen and covered by thousands of years of drifting sands. Hamid was strategically placing the rest of the guards behind the inner and outer walls. Soon the shouting and movement of the men died down, and silence reigned once again. Everyone waited.   


***

Evelyn and Jonathan sat in the living room, watching Margaret talk to the doctor. Their heads swiveled back and forth like spectators at a tennis match, but since the conversation was in Arabic, they had no idea what was said. After a time, the doctor rose to his feet, the examination clearly at an end. Jonathan saw him out, while Margaret leaned back against the pillows on the sofa and closed her eyes.

"What did he say?" Evelyn asked.

"I'm fine," she replied, her eyes still closed.

"That's it?" Jonathan appeared in the doorway. "He was here for over half an hour. I may not understand Arabic, but more was said than 'you are fine.' "

A ghost of a smile played around Margaret's lips and she opened her eyes again. "Very well. He said that the injuries all seem to be superficial, even this one." She touched her fingertips to her left temple, which now had a patch of gauze over her injury. "If I were to have a concussion, I would have had it already. He said I was lucky there. Everything else is just bruises, nothing to be concerned about." She sighed. "I'm just supposed to rest and get my strength back."

She did look better, in fact. She had eaten a little this morning, and Jonathan and Evelyn had moved her out onto the sofa in the living room with a plethora of pillows and a blanket or two. Only the bruises on her face, along with the shadows under her eyes, showed that she had been through an ordeal.

"Then rest you shall," Jonathan said with a smile. "Your task for today is to sit right there, and let us fetch and carry for you."

Margaret raised an eyebrow. "Fetch and carry what, exactly?"

"Well, tea, for example." Jonathan gestured to the pot on the side table. "This has gone cold, I'm sure. We'll get you some more. And something else to eat; you have to eat more to get your strength back."

"And your knitting," Evelyn added. "I brought your bag along, I thought you might want something to do on the way home. Would you like me to go get it for you?"

"You brought my knitting bag?" Margaret's eyes lit up with another smile. "Oh, yes, please. If I just sit here with nothing to do, I guarantee I will turn into a very bad patient very quickly."

"Nonsense," Jonathan scoffed as Evelyn went to get Margaret's knitting. "You can't be any worse than Alex was when he had the flu last winter."

"Yes, well," Margaret replied, watching Jonathan collect the tea things from the side table and bring them into the kitchen. "Who was the one that gave him that little bell to ring?"

"Hmmm, I don't seem to recall," came the answer floating back from the kitchen, its tone all innocence. 

"Liar," Evelyn said with a smile, returning to the living room and dropping the bag into Margaret's lap. She started rifling through it immediately, a big smile on her face, looking for the first time almost like her normal self.

"Oh, Evy, I can't tell you how glad I am that you brought this along. For some reason, all I could think of the last couple days was finishing that sweater for Alex, and…" Her voice trailed off, and the smile slid slowly off her face. She pulled out a huge snarl of dark grey wool. She looked at it for a few moments.

"This was where I hid the Key," she finally said.

"Oh, yes," Evelyn said. "I'm sorry, I probably should have wound that back up for you. But things got a little rushed, of course, and I didn't even think--"

"But how did you know?" she asked. She looked from Evelyn to Jonathan, astounded. "I didn't tell anyone. How did you know where to find it?"

"We didn't," Evelyn said, sitting on the edge of the sofa next to Margaret. "Quite the opposite, really. We tore your room apart looking for it, I'm afraid. Ardeth was the one who knew where it was. He said it had to be in your knitting bag, and there it was."

Margaret's brow furrowed. "He was in England? What was he doing there?"

"He'd come to warn us." Evelyn looked down at her hands. "Unfortunately, he came just a little too late. We got back to the house just a little while after they…well, after you were gone."

"To warn us. Of course." Margaret looked at the tangle of wool for a few more moments, then let it fall to the floor. "Well, it doesn't matter," she said, forcing a small smile on her face. But it didn't stay long, and Jonathan and Evelyn could both see the sadness in her eyes. There was something bothering her, but it was something she obviously did not want to talk about. "I don't need that yarn anyway."

Morning wore on, and the house grew more and more quiet. Margaret hardly spoke at all; after throwing the grey wool into the fire, she settled herself back onto the sofa. Knitting needles clicked together quietly as she focused all of her attention on Alex's sweater. A small frown creased her forehead; it could have been concentration, or it could have been a remnant of the sadness from earlier. Evelyn fell back into her old routine of staring out the window, her one hand fiddling with the locket around her neck. She slowly slid it back and forth along its slender gold chain, her other hand tapping idly on the windowsill.

Jonathan seemed to take up his brother-in-law's hobby of prowling restlessly around the house. He checked to make sure the doors were locked every ten minutes or so. Margaret glanced up at him every time he passed her place on the sofa, but she said nothing. Finally, he threw himself into a chair.

"More bloody waiting," he muttered. "There must be something that we can do."

"Well, there isn't," Evelyn replied. "Everything will be fine," she added with a glance in Margaret's direction. "We just have to…" Her voice trailed off as she swayed on her feet, clutching the windowsill to keep her balance.

"Evy?" Jonathan jumped to his feet, alarmed. He was at her side in an instant, steadying her. 

Evelyn covered her eyes with her hand for a moment, then took a deep, shuddering breath. "I have to go." Her voice was quiet, but even Margaret across the room heard her clearly.

"What?" Jonathan asked.

She looked up at Jonathan then. "To the tomb. I have to go there now. Something's wrong." Her voice was oddly calm, but her eyes gleamed with emotion.

Jonathan looked at her askance. "Evy? Of course there's something wrong. That's why they're all there. Rick and Ardeth and his cast of thousands. They're putting it right. We just have to wait for them to--"

"No. You don't understand." She put her hands to her temples, as if warding off a headache. "I don't think I even understand. But I have to be there. I have to go there now. To stop…"

"To stop what?" Jonathan looked at his sister for a moment, then sighed heavily. "This has to do with Nefertiri, doesn't it?"

Evelyn nodded. "I think so. I can't explain it. I just have this terrible feeling…" She straightened up, as if she had made her decision. "I want you to take me out there now."

He let out a short bark of laughter. "Me? Oh, no, Evy. I'm staying right here. There's no way you're going to get me to--"

"Fine." She reached her hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the keys to the car. "I'll go on my own. But I'm going."

"Wait. Now just wait." Jonathan put his hand on hers, not taking the keys out of her hand, but not quite releasing them to her, either. "What about Meg? We can't just leave her here. She's probably out of danger, yes, but she's been through a lot. She's tired, she's weak, she--"

"And she's sitting right here," Margaret said from the sofa. Both Evelyn and Jonathan turned to look at her. Her knitting was resting in her lap, and she was watching them both. When their eyes turned to her, she forced a small smile. "You don't need to talk about me like I can't understand you. I'm not Hannah, you know."

Jonathan shook his head. "I didn't mean..."

"I know." Her smile was now a little more genuine. "Go," she said. "If there's something out there that's calling to you, Evy, then it would be wrong to ignore it, now wouldn't it?"

Evelyn nodded. Jonathan sighed, looking from one woman to the other, clearly torn between who needed his protective eye more. Then he shook his head. "We don't even know where it is, Evy," he argued. "Ardeth does, but he's already there. I don't want to go out and wander in the desert until we run out of gas."

"I know where it is," Evelyn replied steadily. Jonathan blinked at her. She shrugged. "I can't explain it. An hour ago, I didn't know where it is. Now I do."

Jonathan heaved another sigh, hanging his head. "All right," he said quietly. He walked over to the sofa, sitting beside Margaret. Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he pulled out his gambling pistol. "Do you know how to use this?" Margaret shook her head, her eyes a little wide as she looked at the weapon in his hand. He took her hand and put the gun in it, wrapping her fingers firmly around the grip. "The sight's not the best. But if that door opens, you just point the gun at it. And if it's not one of us, you fire. Do you understand?" His voice was uncharacteristically serious, without a trace of waffling bravery or humor. She nodded dumbly. "Good." He took the gun back out of her hand and, lifting up the knitting in her lap, placed the small gun under it. He kissed his sister-in-law on the forehead, then stood, looking down at her. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Yes." Margaret said a little too quickly, nodding her head a little too vigorously. "I'll be fine. Please."

Jonathan nodded, then moved to join Evelyn at the door. "Let's go."

***

Rick wasn't sure he heard anything at first. Then it became clearer. The sounds of horses, many horses. They weren't strangely silent this time. Ardeth stood a little straighter at his post, as the sounds definitely became that of horses and men. One of the Medjai Rick had sent to the front for reconnaissance came racing back, keeping his body low.   
  
"Omar s'approche," the man said breathlessly. "Il a cinquante hommes avec lui. Medjai." This last word was a hiss, and several of the men around him muttered curses.   
  
"Okay, fifty men, huh? That's not many more than Ardeth has, and the defensive position is good. We'll wait." Abdul said something to the men in Arabic, and they all took up watchful positions.   
  
Up on the wall, Ardeth began to speak, his voice ringing out in the stillness of the desert. He sounded very grand and stern. Rick wished, not for the first time, that he had bothered to learn more Arabic than "I'll have another one" during his years in North Africa. Fortunately, Abdul stood beside him, and was able to give him the highlights of Ardeth's speech.   
  
"He says, 'You have a chance… Do not be traitors… Do not forget duty and honor… Leave now…'" Abdul swallowed and looked at Rick then continued. "'Or die.'"   
  
For a long moment nothing had happened, and Rick actually began to think that Ardeth had pulled it off. Then he heard a shout from past the wall, and the bullets began to fly. Ardeth leapt off the wall as a hail of sand and pieces of stone flew about him.   
  
"Okay, so much for that," Rick said speaking mostly to himself. He managed to convey that he wanted the men to fan out, ready to go over the wall at his signal.   
  
Ardeth's men were well trained, but he was hampered by the fact that the tomb guards were hesitant to shoot their fellow Medjai, traitors or not. Omar's men showed no such compunction, and had soon breached the outer wall, while Ardeth and the guards, more willing to fight now that they saw the ruthlessness of the renegades, fell back to the inner wall.   
  
Rick made his decision. He hopped up on to the back wall, ready to lead his little band into the fray, when he heard the rumble of engines. The cargo trucks were coming with reinforcements. If the fight last night in the boarding house had been any indication, there were at least forty hired thugs on those trucks. Defense was okay, necessary at times, but it was hard to win a battle when you were on the defensive. Ardeth and his men wouldn't be able to hold off this lot, even with Rick and the additional Medjai at his back. No, they needed something else. Sunlight glinted off the hood of the first truck, making him squint. Rick got an idea. 


	8. Unwelcome Guests

Chapter Eight   
  
  
Men poured out of the trucks, joining the fight. A large stone settled into the pit of Rick's stomach as he counted them. There were too many of them; it wouldn't be long before Ardeth's men were overwhelmed. Rick hopped down from the wall, gathering the men back around him.   
  
"All right. Change of plans. The guys from Cairo just got here, and they're gonna kick Ardeth's ass. We'll have to do this another way."   
  
During this speech, Abdul had started several times to say something, but now he just looked at Rick quizzically. Rick sighed.   
  
"Bad guys. Many bad guys." Abdul's eyes lit up, and he said something to the Medjai, who nodded knowingly. Rick continued, "We're going to take the trucks, les camions, and nous piloterons," here he pantomimed driving with an oversized steering wheel, "into the bad guys. Okay? You got that?" Between the French, and Abdul's translation, the men seemed to understand. "Good. Okay, there are four trucks, I can drive one, anyone else know how to drive?"   
  
Abdul nodded hugely and waved his hand in front of Rick's face. "I drive, yes. Very good driver."   
  
Rick thumped Abdul on the arm gratefully. "A man of many talents, good. Anyone else?" The other men traded uncertain looks, trying to avoid Rick's eyes. "Come on, come on, we don't have a lot of time here." Still no answer. "Okay, fine, we'll have to do it with two--"   
  
One man pushed himself to the front, and said something to Abdul in his own language. Abdul answered him with a rather lengthy response, which drew what seemed to be an argument from the other man. Abdul shrugged and turned to Rick. "Nasir says he will drive."   
  
Rick raised his eyebrows and looked hard at Abdul, then shrugged and said, "Okay, good, let's move out." Abdul gave the order to the Medjai, and they ducked low and skirted the outside of the tomb complex, making their way to the trucks parked near the entrance. Luckily, no one had thought to post a guard on the trucks. Rick quickly divided the men up into three groups. His plan was to barrel into the enemy lines, using the trucks as cover for the men inside, and cause enough havoc and confusion to get the hired thugs from Cairo to give up. Unfortunately, the gate opening was only wide enough to admit one truck at a time. They'd have to drive hell for leather to get the trucks inside the wall, before Omar's men figured out what was happening. He tried his best to impress upon Abdul and Nasir the need for speed. He thought at the very least it would open up a second front, and give Ardeth's men a little breathing space.   
  
As he climbed into the driver's seat, Rick could hear the sounds of battle raging on within the walls; Ardeth's men were being pushed back. The Medjai loaded themselves into the backs of the trucks, rifles at the ready. He gave a thumbs-up sign to the other two drivers, and they started up the engines.   
  
***   
  
"There, over that next dune. Hurry, Jonathan!"   
  
Jonathan had long since stopped second-guessing any of Evelyn's commands. Even though neither of them had been out in this stretch of desert before, she seemed to know exactly where she was going. She led them on a winding, unmarked trail through what looked like impassable dunes. If he stopped to think about it, it would all seem very morbid, and not a little frightening. Which is why Jonathan chose not to stop and think about it. He just pressed his foot down on the accelerator.   
  
And got nowhere. The car had served them well, getting them out in the middle of the desert, ascending and descending the hills of sand gallantly, if a bit bumpily. Unfortunately, it was not made to swim through sand, and it now stalled completely, choked with sand and dust. He tried to get the blasted thing started again, pushing away any nagging doubts about how they were to get back. His muttered curses were interrupted by Evy, who was clambering out of the car, shouting "Leave it, leave it! Just leave it!" He hurried after her as she ran toward a nearby dune.   
  
"There." Evelyn pointed ahead and slightly off to the right, at the crest of the small dune. She ran to the dune, her brother a few steps behind her. He slid to a halt at the top beside his sister, staggering a little from the sudden stop. Below them was a small valley, surrounded on three sides by dunes and on the fourth by a high cliff. In the center of the valley …   
  
Evelyn swayed on her feet, and Jonathan steadied her. Her face had gone white, and she stared down at the ancient structure below. "That's it," she whispered, her nails digging into her brother's arm. He nodded with a gulp.   
  
Chaos swarmed around the ancient tomb. Black-robed figures fought with black-robed figures, running in all directions into, out of, and around the tomb and the sets of walls that surrounded it. Close to the entrance, cargo trucks roared to life, the sound of the engines mixing with the sounds of battle. Neither Evelyn nor Jonathan could pick out Rick or Ardeth in the throng; they were too far away, and there were too many men moving too quickly.   
  
Suddenly, Evelyn gasped. She raised a hand and pointed. "There," she said. Jonathan looked where she was indicating, straight into the heart of the complex, at the building that had to be the tomb itself. Sunlight dazzled his eyes, bouncing off the sand, and he had to squint to see properly. Even still, it took him a little time to see what she was pointing at. Then he saw; morning sunlight glanced off gold. A short man with a white beard was cradling the Book of Amun-Ra as if it were a baby, moving quickly and deliberately through the battle that raged on around him, looking completely unconcerned with the carnage he was making his way through. He passed the outer wall, and was working his way through to the inner walls that surrounded the building.   
  
"He's going in," Evelyn gasped. "He has the Key."   
  
"What?" Jonathan blinked in confusion.   
  
But Evelyn was already gone, nimbly sliding down the other side of the dune. When she was on level ground she took off running, straight towards the fighting, the tomb, and the man who would desecrate it. Jonathan swore loudly, knowing that there was no one to hear him. And then he followed her, reaching the bottom of the dune much less gracefully than his sister. One hand groped in his pocket as he ran and he swore again. He'd left his gun with Margaret. He couldn't defend himself or Evelyn. Then what was he doing there?   
  
***   
  
Rick threw the truck into gear and stepped on the gas. Sand flew as he picked up speed. He couldn't see the other two trucks for all the sand they kicked up, but at least they had understood the speed thing. Suddenly, Rick felt a jolt, as one of the other trucks rammed him. Nasir. He had bumped Rick's truck on the side, he was up too far. He felt an even stronger impact, and nearly lost control. Damn! He'd have to talk to that kid about his driving skills. Rick sped up even more in an attempt to outrun Nasir, but they were staying neck and neck. He looked out the other window, and Abdul seemed to be pulling up alongside him now too. Rick pursed his lips as they approached the wall. Nothing left for it now. Just in time, Nasir and Abdul pulled a little farther to the left and right of Rick, but they kept up the breakneck speed. His truck flew through the opening in the wall. With the crashing sound of the millennia-old stone wall being pulverized and an enormous cloud of dust and sand, the other two trucks made their own openings.   
  
Without stopping, the three trucks plowed into the enemy lines; immediately, the Medjai in the backs of the trucks burst into action. Some jumped out of the backs of the trucks, ready to fight with scimitars and rifles. Others simply slashed through the canvas covering the cargo beds and started firing. Rick slammed on the brakes, grabbed his shotgun and started shooting at anything that moved outside the truck. Omar's men and the hired thugs were overwhelmed.   
  
***   
  
Ardeth, caught up in hand-to-hand combat with one of his own men, finished off his opponent, just as a loud crashing sound came from the front of the tomb complex. He peered around the rock wall, to see the dust settling and his men firing from inside several of the cargo trucks. Good, he thought, O'Connell will keep this rabble occupied.   
  
Just then, he spotted Omar near the outer wall, at the same moment that Omar saw him. Omar lifted his sword in a gesture of defiance, and ran for an opening in the wall, to the desert outside. Ardeth followed.   
  
When Ardeth cleared the outer wall, he slowed. Suddenly, he was thrown to the ground as Omar tackled him, knocking the scimitar out of his hand. They both slid down a small hill, coming to rest in a depression, separated from the tomb by a low dune. Ardeth delivered a sharp kick that momentarily disabled Omar, then he rolled, grabbing up his weapon, which had landed nearby, and springing to his feet. Omar also got to his feet. They looked at each other for a moment, Omar's gaze full of hatred, Ardeth's more impassive than ever.   
  
"Did you think I was running from you?" Omar finally said with a sneer.   
  
Ardeth glared back at him. "Yes."   
  
Omar's face darkened with rage, and he raised his arm. The two men rushed each other.   
  
***   
  
Evelyn didn't think about what she was doing; she just ran in a straight line to the tomb's entrance. She was about fifty feet from the cargo trucks when they jerked to life. She skidded to a halt and watched, stunned, as the trucks sped ahead to the entrance, bumping awkwardly against each other. They were all in a line, and Evelyn waited for the two on the sides to fall in line behind the center one. But it never happened, and instead Evelyn watched the two outer trucks destroy the wall, widening the entrance. The resulting cloud of dust and rubble obscured her vision briefly, but she could hear the increased gunfire. Running again, she darted through the now-huge entrance, hugging the wall until she was beyond the most furious of the fighting. She took a deep breath, choking on dust, and saw that she was standing right in front of the building in the center of the complex. A chill passed through her body as her steps slowed. For the space of a few breaths, she could feel in her body the passage of time; it was like her soul recognized how long it had been since it had inhabited the body entombed within.   
  
Then she blinked. The little bald man was inside. She just saw his back disappear through the outer door as she stood there. She started to run again. The body inside the tomb was hers, she felt that in her soul as surely as she felt the sand beneath her feet. It must be protected.   
  
Inside, the tomb was dark and cool. No torches were lit, so at first Evy couldn't see a thing. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw a small hallway off to the left and, more importantly, the distant flicker of light. Without hesitation, she sped down the hallway and stopped almost right away. After a distance of about thirty feet, the hallway ended in a large bronze door.   
  
And there he was. The last time that Evelyn had seen him up close, he had been reading an ancient stone tablet in the Egyptian exhibit in her museum. Now he stood before the massive door, the golden Book of Amun-Ra balanced on a chest-high ledge cut in the stone. He had already employed the Key to open the book, and turned the heavy pages, scanning them quickly and expertly.   
  
"No!" The exclamation was torn from Evelyn's chest before she could think about it. As the word flew out of her mouth to echo around the stone corridor, she realized that surprise would have been the better option, but it was too late now. He had already turned towards her.   
  
"Why, Dr. O'Connell," he said, his eyebrows raised. "I must say I am not too surprised to see you here. Is your sister-in-law all right, then?"   
  
Evelyn clenched her teeth. "How dare you ask about her?" she hissed.   
  
He shrugged almost amiably. "Her involvement in all of this was an accident. I never intended for her to be hurt."   
  
"Then what did you intend?" Evelyn could scarcely believe that she was having this conversation.   
  
He gestured to the door. "Why, this, of course. You of all people should understand how important discoveries like these are. You've unearthed your share of ancient tombs. So did your father. As a result, you gained respect, and a comfortable position at the British Museum. But not all of us have fame, you know." His voice changed then, morphing from pleasant to bitter as he spoke. "Some of us languish in universities, imparting knowledge to yawning pupils who know little and care less about ancient times. Some of us would give everything we have, spend their family's entire fortune, to find that one big discovery that will secure our place in history. And now, this close to victory, nothing stands in my way. Not those men fighting out there. And certainly not you." Nodding to her as if they were conversing at a cocktail party, he turned back to the book, searching for the incantation he needed.   
  
Evelyn dashed forward, her hands grasping for the book, trying to pull it away from him. "I can't let you do this," she said. "You don't understand what you're dealing with here."   
  
"Oh, I think I do." His words now held an edge of steel. More quickly than Evelyn could follow, his right hand whipped out of his jacket pocket, striking her across the temple, hard, with the side of the revolver he held. With a low cry, Evelyn crumpled to the ground. The little man nodded once in satisfaction and turned his attention back to the book, finding the correct incantation to open the door.   
  
***   
  
Jonathan paused at the door of the tomb, his breath coming in great heaves. He had scooped up a rifle and a bandoleer from the body of a fallen Medjai, and he felt a little better now that he was armed. But not much. He had lost track of Evelyn. He had been too far behind her when she ran into the tomb, and he couldn't see which way she had gone. The tomb was dark, and he couldn't see any light anywhere as he peered inside. He knew that he should go inside and look for her, try to help her out. But he really didn't want to. He knew whose tomb it was, and the thought that he was stepping into what was, in a way, his sister's tomb was enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.   
  
Perhaps he should just wait here. She would be out soon, wouldn't she?   
  
Gunfire sounded behind him, and he whirled around, ducking at the same time. Bullets bounced harmlessly off the doorway just above him, raining small bits of rubble and dust down on his head. Jonathan swore loudly. He'd been spotted. He cocked his rifle and fired, taking out the Medjai currently aiming at him. He wondered how many bullets he had left. Evy had better hurry.   
  
***   
  
Scimitars met with a harsh metallic clang, as Ardeth and Omar began an age-old dance to the death. Ardeth was the better swordsman, but Omar was more desperate. The sun glinted off their swords as they whirled and fought, grunting and gasping.   
  
They broke apart momentarily, and circled each other like two wild animals. Omar sneered. "So, you got your little whore back, did you? Did she warm your bed last night, and thank you properly for saving her life? Or did I wear her out? That last time, she seemed tired; she could barely open her legs for me."   
  
Ardeth's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his weapon. Omar smiled at the reaction he had provoked. "Oh, yes," he said softly, tauntingly. "I took her like the whore she is. Several times, in fact. Not too willing at first, but she learned soon enough not to fight back."   
  
"You lie," Ardeth hissed. He launched a furious attack at Omar, but rage dulled his aim, and Omar easily turned his blows aside.   
  
Omar chuckled. "Did she ever scream for you, Ardeth?" he asked in a mocking voice. "She did for me. I can see her now, moaning and writhing beneath me. Not a very pretty whore, but a soft enough body, wouldn't you agree?" He laughed as he met Ardeth's next reckless onslaught. "You have grown weak, Ardeth. Even your whore preferred a real man." Omar spun around, bringing his blade down in a deadly arc. Ardeth jumped back, but was not quite quick enough; he sucked in his breath as Omar tore a gash, long but not deep, across his chest.   
  
The pain of the wound seemed to clear his mind. He realized that he was letting Omar infuriate him, control him, and weaken him. This was no time to puzzle out the truth. If Omar was lying, then there was no need to attend to his words. And if he was not--Ardeth blinked away the sweat in his eyes-- the best way to avenge Margaret would be to kill Omar. Ardeth took a breath and forced his mind on to the task at hand. His eyes hardened, and the anger slowly left his face, replaced by an impassive coldness.   
  
Omar continued his contemptuous jeering, but it was useless now. Ardeth did not even hear the words. He only fought, expertly and dispassionately, his sword singing through the air, to land blow after blow that Omar found increasingly difficult to block. In desperation, Omar closed with Ardeth. Their blades slid together, until they stood nose to nose, only a breath away from each other.   
  
Swords locked, they glared at each other for what seemed an eternity. Finally, with a roar, Ardeth gave a great shove, and Omar stumbled back, almost falling. Suddenly, Omar smiled, a smile of triumph, for he had seen one of his men on the rise overlooking the two combatants. He laughed, as his man raised his rifle. "This is the end, Ardeth," Omar cried. But his laughter died on his lips as the report of the rifle rang out. He looked down, stunned, at the spreading red stain on his chest, then fell lifeless in the sand. Asim lowered his weapon.   
  
***   
  
Finding the incantation in the Book of Amun-Ra wasn't as easy as he had thought it would be. There weren't a great many pages, but the symbols on them were very close together. And all must be examined carefully; any one of them could be the incantation he sought. A cold breeze suddenly blew through the hall where he stood, ruffling the fringe of hair around his head. He looked around suspiciously, but all seemed as it should be. The muted sounds of battle carried in to him from outside, Evelyn O'Connell lay slumped and senseless against the wall. Shaking off a shudder, he turned his attention back to the book. Just as he began to get nervous, his eyes picked out a familiar phrase. He read it a second time, then a third. A slow smile came over his face. He had it! Now all he had to do was read it aloud, then take the Key and fit it into the lock in front of him. He would be rich, he would be famous, and those damned Bembridge Scholars would never laugh at him again. He took a deep breath and began to read aloud…   
  
A hand closed tightly around his throat, cutting off his words and stopping his breathing. He tried to turn his head, but found he couldn't move. Instead, his eyes swiveled over to see Dr. O'Connell glaring at him. For an instant, he was surprised; he thought he had knocked her out. Not to mention, he thought as he struggled in her grip, he had no idea that she was so strong.   
  
But she looked different, somehow. Her eyes seemed to glow with an otherworldly intensity, although that could just be a trick of the light. And her bearing, the way she stood and carried herself, had changed completely. He let go of the book and heard it thud dully to the floor as he placed both his hands on hers, trying to free himself from her crushing grip.   
  
She only clutched him tighter, and he could practically feel the bones in his neck snapping. She pulled him closer, or did she step towards him? Either way, they were practically nose-to-nose now.   
  
"You are not welcome here." Her voice was low, intense, deadly. And she sounded nothing like Evelyn O'Connell. His mind reeled as he realized that she was speaking ancient Egyptian. Speaking it like an angry queen to a clumsy slave; her voice was deep and strong, it seemed to echo strangely through the corridors of the tomb.   
  
Suddenly, he was flying through the air, flung as if he weighed nothing. He barely had time to register surprise before he struck the far wall and was consumed by darkness.   
  
Nefertiri looked in satisfaction at the crumpled, unconscious man. She bent down and closed the Book of Amun-Ra, locking it. Key in hand, she walked leisurely towards the locked door. After collapsing the Key, she ran a hand slowly over the bronze door, almost caressing it. Then she reached to the left and pressed down on a small bas-relief carving. The carving gave under her fingers, and the whole building gave a great shudder. She turned and started down the hallway to the front of the tomb, walking at a relaxed pace, heedless of the stones and rubble that began to fall around her.   
  
***   
  
Enraged, disappointed, robbed of vengeance. Ardeth felt all of these things in quick succession. He stared at the lifeless body of the man who was once his comrade, once his friend. It took only a few short moments for the anger to melt away, to be replaced by a deep sorrow, and an almost immeasurable weariness. Omar had betrayed all his people, not just Ardeth. The sands of Nefertiri's tomb were dotted with the bodies of loyal Medjai, killed as a result of Omar's actions. Asim himself had carried Yusef, bloody and dying, across the desert. He had as much right to vengeance as anyone.   
  
With a sigh, Ardeth sheathed his weapon and made his painful way up the dune. Asim came to his aid, concern written on his face.   
  
"You are hurt, my lord."   
  
Ardeth shrugged, one hand pressing against his chest where the wound reminded him of its presence. "Yes," he said. "But it is nothing. It might have been worse if not for you."   
  
Asim nodded, looking over his chief's shoulder to the corpse in the small valley. "I am only sorry that I arrived as late as I did. I could have--"   
  
His words were cut off by a loud rumble that carried even over the sounds of fighting. The earth heaved and trembled, almost throwing the two men to the ground. They spun around and gaped . Before their eyes the building seemed to shake and sway. Slowly, one column fell, followed by another. Men and horses raced to escape as the tomb shuddered, slowly sinking into the sand, like a wounded ship being swallowed by the sea.   
  
"Built to collapse," Ardeth murmured. "Just as Hamunaptra was."   
  
  
***   
  
  
Jonathan had just lined up another shot when the ground beneath him swayed. He fought to keep his balance, falling back another step or two into the tomb. It was then that he took a good look around. The inside of the tomb was black, but to his left he saw a flicker of light from what appeared to be the other end of a corridor. Torchlight ? It was simply too far away to tell.   
  
The ground beneath him heaved again. Jonathan grabbed onto the wall for balance. A sudden memory stole the breath from his lungs. Running through the shaking hallways and passages of Hamunaptra, while the entire city began to sink into the sand. The same thing was happening now. He had to get out of there before the whole building collapsed with him inside of it. Where the hell was Evy?   
  
The instant he thought of his sister, she appeared, which struck Jonathan as very odd. Was he imagining her? No, there she was, her silhouette illuminated by the distant torchlight. She was walking towards him, but very slowly. All around her, stones fell, walls cracked, rubble and dust fell like a sandy rain. But she walked leisurely, looking for all the world like she was taking a stroll in the park on a sunny afternoon.   
  
"Evy!" he shouted. "Are you mad? Come on! The whole place is going down, just like before! Come on, Evy, hurry!"   
  
To Jonathan's vast consternation, however, instead of hurrying, his shouting seemed to produce the opposite effect in Evelyn. She stopped walking entirely, standing about thirty feet away from him. She didn't move at all for a long moment, then she cocked her head to the side, looking at him curiously. She said something, but Jonathan couldn't make out the words; she was so far away it almost sounded like another language by the time it reached his ears.   
  
The walls around them shook harder. A chunk of ceiling crashed to the ground between them. Jonathan briefly considered tearing his hair out, but settled for hopping from one foot to the other. "Come ON!" he shouted.   
  
Evelyn swayed a little, reaching out to the wall beside her to stay upright. But it didn't work; with a moan, she fell slowly to the ground, almost looking like she was melting. Jonathan swore, then he swore again. And then he was off, running, leaping, dodging falling rubble to reach his sister's side. As he scooped her up in his arms, he noticed she was breathing. That was good, at least. He hugged the wall all the way out, which shook and cracked some more but luckily didn't drop any stones on his head. He paused at the threshold, wondering for a second which was the lesser evil: the falling tomb behind him or the murderous Medjai ahead.   
  
But the threat outside was no more. As the ground pitched beneath them, men and horses fled in droves, leaving only three large trucks and a couple score of corpses. Gripping Evelyn tighter, Jonathan dashed out of the tomb and to what used to be the outer wall. Then he set her down, dropping to the ground himself to watch the self-destruction.   
  
Beside him, Evelyn moaned and stirred. Her eyes blinked a few times rapidly, and she tried to sit up. Jonathan helped her.   
  
"What…how did we get…" After a few false starts, she finally stopped speaking, instead she just gaped openly at the tomb, watching it crumble slowly into dust. She shivered and put her head in her hands, not sure what she felt. Fear. Incredulity. Relief. The threat to the tomb, and what lay within was gone. She slumped wearily against Jonathan.   
  
He patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Buck up, old mum, you're all right now. But what was all that about? I thought you'd gone mad, running off by yourself. What was in there, anyway?"   
  
Evelyn didn't speak for a moment or two, but her gaze seemed to be caught by something he couldn't see, something far in the distance. "You don't want to know," she answered softly.   



	9. Aftermath

Chapter Nine

Brother and sister watched the disrupted sand settle, until all that was left were small clouds of dust, slowly dispersing in the late morning sun.

"You sure you're all right?" Jonathan was worried about his little sister. She still looked a little pale and weak, as though she had been through a horrible ordeal. Probably because she had.

"I'm fine," she said, albeit a little thinly. She gave Jonathan a watery smile. "You?"

He shrugged, waving off the question as insignificant. "Oh, sure. You know, the usual. Madmen shooting at me. Ancient buildings sinking into the sand. I'm pretty used to it by now. In fact--"

"Evelyn!" Rick's anguished shout made Evelyn and Jonathan turn, to see Rick racing toward them. "Jonathan! What the hell…?"   
  
Evelyn held her hands out to Rick, who quickly scooped her up and held her close. "What are you doing here?" he asked more quietly this time. "Jonathan…" he started, in his most threatening voice.   
  
Jonathan, who was struggling to his feet, only rolled his eyes as he tried to brush the sand off himself.   
  
"No, Rick, it's not his fault." Evelyn looked up at Rick pleadingly. "Don't be angry with him. I made him bring me."   
  
"But, why?" Rick seemed torn between relief that she was all right and consternation that she was there at all. "I told you to stay at the house, with--"   
  
Before he could finish, Ardeth had materialized at their side. "Where is Margaret?" he barked. "Did you leave her alone?"  
  
Evelyn and Jonathan exchanged guilty glances as both Ardeth and Rick looked at them accusingly. Finally, Evelyn said in a small voice, "Well…I had to come…and she said…that is, we thought she'd be fine…" Her voice trailed off, she looked at her boots for a moment, then looked directly at Ardeth. "I'm sorry," she said simply.   
  
He glared at her for the space of several long seconds, then gave her a barely perceptible nod. He then turned to Rick. "You should go, quickly. You can find your way back?" 

Rick looked at Evelyn, who nodded. "Yeah, we'll be fine," he answered. "Did you two bring the car?"

Jonathan looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, yes. But it's a little...um…stalled, I'm afraid."

Rick sighed and hung his head for a moment. He looked around a little helplessly. "Well, maybe we can borrow some horses…"

"No," Ardeth said. "There is still one more truck behind the wall. You may take that."  
  
He walked beside Rick, leading them to the remaining cargo truck. Evelyn looked around at what was left of the tomb complex. Those left alive of the rebellious Medjai and the hired hands from Cairo were being rounded up, and set under guards. Looking at the sheer number of prisoners, her brow furrowed. "But…but there are too many men for your horses. Won't you need the truck?" she asked.  
  
Ardeth followed her gaze to the prisoners, his eyes clouded. For a moment, amongst people he called friends, he looked less like a leader and more like a man. His face was drawn, tired and ashen. His robes were torn from battle, and stained with blood from a wound to his chest. "No," he said, his voice heavy. "We will not need the truck."   
  
"Are you sure?" Evelyn asked. "A lot of them are your men, and--"

"No," Ardeth interrupted her gently. "They are no longer my men." He looked at the prisoners for a few moments more, then closed his eyes. "They are traitors." 

Evelyn's eyes widened a little as realization slowly dawned. "Oh," she finally said, her voice small. "I see." She took a shaking breath. "You won't be needing the truck. Of course."

Ardeth turned to her then, his eyes again clear, but still troubled. "Please believe," he said quietly. "This is not something that I want to do. But--"

"But you must," Evelyn replied just as quietly. "I know." She laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry." He nodded his thanks, his head bowed a little under the weight of the task before him. Jonathan lightly grasped her elbow, murmuring inaudibly. Evelyn nodded to her brother and silently allowed him to help her into the cab of the truck.   
  
While Jonathan got Evelyn settled, Ardeth turned to Rick. He managed a small smile. "Your…tactics will be the subject of legend among the Medjai." The smile fell then, and his expression grew serious. "Once again, I am in your debt--"   
  
Rick cut him off before he could say more. "No. I owed you one. We couldn't have gotten Meg back without you and your men. Let's call it even." Ardeth nodded in a gesture of agreement, and would have turned and gonewithout another word, but Rick stopped him. "I…uh…would you like me to give Meg a message?"   
  
For a brief moment, Ardeth looked over Rick's shoulder, his eyes unfocused. "Yes," he finally said. "You may tell her that she has no more to fear from Omar. He is dead."

Rick gaped at him. "That's it? That's all you want me to tell her?"

Ardeth thought for another moment. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and opened it again. "Yes," he finally said. "That is all that I can tell her." With that, he turned and walked away.   
  
He had just reached the back of the truck when he was brought up short by the sight of Jonathan, leaning against the tailgate. To his surprise, the Englishman seemed to have been lurking behind the truck on purpose to waylay him. He nodded to Jonathan in a gesture of farewell and began to walk past him.

"You're not coming back with us, then?"

Ardeth stopped walking at Jonathan's words. He turned slowly to face Jonathan. "No. As I said, there is much I must attend to here."

Jonathan nodded. "Then you'll come to the house later in the day, then. Or this evening, perhaps. Whenever you're…er…finished here."

"No," he said evenly. "There is no reason for me to do so. You are no longer in need of me."

"Well, I'm not in need of you, myself." Jonathan's brow furrowed as Ardeth continued to look at him impassively. He sighed. "But what about Meg? She--"

"Margaret is safe," Ardeth interrupted, his voice firm. "That is all that concerns me." He glanced around at the front of the truck, where Rick and Evelyn were talking in low tones, not paying attention to him and Jonathan. "You will take her home, and you will keep her safe." 

He started to turn away, but was stopped by Jonathan's hand on his arm, the grip surprisingly strong. "Safe, yes. But happy?" Jonathan shook his head. 

A muscle jumped in Ardeth's cheek. "Her happiness has nothing to do with me," he said quietly. "I--"

"The hell it doesn't." Jonathan's expression changed to uncharacteristic seriousness, his eyes like chips of blue ice. "Look, I don't know what happened between you two in Alexandria. I don't know why you parted. And I don't care to know, really; it's none of my business. But she still loves you, as truly as I've ever seen one person love another. She has not had one day of happiness since we took her home the last time. Now, you can glower at me all you like, but I know that you love her as well. I know you well enough to be able to tell that." Jonathan paused for a moment, as if trying to think of another argument. Finally he just sighed. "All I'm saying is, don't let her go this time."

Ardeth said nothing for a long moment; his eyes met Jonathan's steadily. "Are you finished?" he finally asked.

Jonathan blinked. "Yes…yes, I believe so." Ardeth looked pointedly at Jonathan's hand still on his arm, and Jonathan released him.

"Good." Without another word, Ardeth turned and stalked away.

Jonathan just watched him go, dumbfounded. Did Ardeth not hear him at all? Or did he simply not care? "Yes, sure, fine, you're welcome," he muttered. "Glad I could help." He sighed, watching the Medjai's retreating back. "Bastard."

***

Thank God it was all over. Rick heaved a huge sigh of relief as he opened the front door. Everyone was safe, and they could soon go home. No more danger, no more threats. They could all go home and sleep, warm and safe in their own beds.

Rick stepped into the living room and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Granted, it was only Jonathan's pea-shooter of a pistol. And Margaret, who held the gun, was sitting a good fifteen feet away on the sofa, her face stark white, and her eyes huge. It was evident that she was scared to death. But her hands were steady, the gun didn't waver from its target. Rick knew that if he had been one of her kidnappers coming to reclaim her, he would be dead by now. He was suddenly immensely proud of his sister. Now if only she'd put that gun down…

"Meg?" he said carefully. She blinked, and suddenly drew a deep breath. Her arms relaxed, lowering the gun slightly, no longer aiming it at him. 

"Oh," she said. "Sorry. I heard the truck outside. It…it sounded like one of the ones that…" And she started to tremble, the gun jerking a little alarmingly in her hands. Rick crossed the room in four strides and sat on the edge of the sofa, carefully prying the pistol out of her hands.

"Hey." He chafed her hands between both of his; her skin was cold. "It's okay. Everything's okay. It's all over now."

"It is?" Margaret looked up at him, a little confused. "The tomb… were you able to stop them?"

"Yes," Evelyn replied. She had just walked in the door, behind Jonathan, and she closed the front door behind them. "Everything's where it needs to be," she added. "No one will ever bother the tomb again."

Margaret nodded. "Good," she said quietly. 

Rick reached out then, lightly touching the bandage on the side of Margaret's head. "The one that did this to you," he said softly. "Was his name Omar? A Medjai?" She didn't need to answer him; the renewed terror in her eyes confirmed it. "He's dead," Rick said, his voice firm. "He'll never hurt you again."

Margaret closed her eyes, her breath sighing out of her body. She opened her mouth a couple of times, but no words came out. She tugged lightly on Rick's sleeve, and he pulled her into his arms, expecting to hold her while she cried. But she didn't cry; instead, she trembled in his arms, like some kind of frightened animal. Evelyn moved to the sofa, sitting down behind Margaret, rubbing small circles on her back, treating her like a child freshly awakened from a nightmare.

"It's all right," Evelyn murmured. Margaret nodded against Rick's chest, then sat up straight again.

"I know," she said, her voice still a little shaky. She glanced over her shoulder at Evelyn. "But you're sure?" she asked. "You're sure the danger's passed?"

Evelyn nodded. "Quite sure. The Key and the gold book were all but destroyed; no one's going to have to worry about those anymore. Ardeth has his hands full, of course."

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, Omar wasn't the only Medjai who was disloyal to his tribe. It turns out there were a great many traitors, and--"

"Of course." Margaret nodded her head in recollection. "There was one of them at the house with…with…" She trailed off when she found that she couldn't speak his name.

No one expected her to. "There were a lot more than one," Jonathan said. "Ardeth has a lot of housecleaning to do."

Evelyn pursed her lips and looked down, her face grave. "Exactly," she said. 

"And…" Margaret looked down at her lap. She picked up her knitting needles and stared intently at them, not meeting anyone's eyes. "And… Is…" 

  
Suddenly a commotion could be heard from the road; loud shouting in Arabic, curses, a horn honking boisterously. Rick jumped up. "Damn," he muttered, "the truck. I knew that street was too narrow. I'd better go move it. Be right back."   
  
Jonathan immediately sat down beside Margaret, taking one of her hands in both of his. "Now, love," he said, his voice deliberately cheery, "you can relax. Everything's back where it should be, and all's right with the world. What about you? Hungry?"   
  
Margaret gave him a small smile, but shook her head. "Not really."

Evelyn picked up the teapot, lifting the lid to check its contents. "Well, perhaps you'd like some more tea. I know I would, after the morning we've had. I'll go put some water on."   
  
"You're sure I can't get you anything?" Jonathan persisted. "Another pillow? Something to eat? A footstool?"   
  
"I said no!" Jonathan's eyes widened at the brittle tone in Margaret's voice. She immediately looked chastened, and pulled her hand out of his. "I'm sorry, Jonathan, it's just…" She sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. "It's nothing. I'm fine, really. Just a little tired. Why don't you go help Evelyn?" Her voice was light, and she smiled again, but the smile did not reach her eyes. Jonathan nodded carefully, patted her hand, and then joined his sister in the kitchen. Margaret picked up her knitting once again and had knit about four stitches when her ears pricked up. She sat a few moments, listening, then she heard it again. "Ardeth." They were talking about him. The knitting fell from her fingers to tumble unnoticed to the floor. She rose to her feet and crept towards the kitchen as if pulled by an invisible string.   
  
In the kitchen, Jonathan filled the kettle while Evelyn got out the tea things. "I'm telling you, Evy, he's not coming."   
  
"Oh, Jonathan." Evelyn closed the cupboard door and turned to look at her brother, worry evident in her eyes. "I'm sure you're wrong. You must have not heard him correctly or something. Did you tell him…?"   
  
"I told him, I told him. He wouldn't listen. He barely even spoke to me, just muttered something about 'her happiness is out of my control' or some dreck, and stalked off."   
  
"Oh, no." Evelyn sat down on one of the small chairs in the kitchen, her eyes brimming with tears. She shook her head sadly. "I don't believe it. I was so sure that he… I just don't believe it."   
  
"Well, believe it." Jonathan all but barked, his voice holding a bitterness that was completely foreign to him. "He's not coming. The man's an idiot. Obviously not worthy of our Meg."   
  
Evelyn sighed. She picked up a dish towel and dabbed at her eyes. "Jonathan, we can't tell her."   
  
"Tell her," he snorted. "I should say not. She's been through quite enough already, without this added to it…"   
  
Evelyn heaved another sigh and stood up. "Let's get this tea made, anyway," she said. "Margaret's going to wonder what's taking us so long."

  
Evelyn and Jonathan returned to the front room with the tea just as Rick came in through the front door, brushing off his hands. Margaret sat as still as stone on the couch, her eyes staring at nothing. Her knitting was in a tangle on the floor beside her, but she didn't seem to notice. 

Rick looked down at Margaret, concern washing over his features. "Meg, hon, are you all right?" he asked gently.   
  
For a moment she didn't move, like Rick hadn't spoken, like there was no one else in the room. Then her head bobbed slowly in an absent nod. She continued staring straight ahead, her eyes unfocused. "When can we go home?" Even her voice was dull and lifeless.  
  
He sat down beside her, tilting his head to get a better look at her face. "Soon. You need to build your strength back up. We should stay here a few --"   
  
He caught his breath as she turned to him. Her face was tight with pain, she looked ready to cry, but no tears came. Her eyes focused on him now, a little wild. "I can't stay. Please don't make me stay here. Can't we go home?"   
  
Evelyn sat down again on the other side of Margaret and laid a hand on her arm "But, the doctor said --"   
  
"I'm all right. He said I just needed to rest." Margaret's voice was breathless, not much above a whisper. "I can rest on a train. Or on a boat." One trembling hand reached up to grasp Rick's sleeve tightly. "I just want to go home. Please? Please, Rick? Take me home," she said, her voice gaining strength as she pleaded her case.   
  
He nodded. "Sure, we'll go real soon, I promise. As soon as you're--"   
  
"Now?" she begged, the word tearing out of her. She gripped his sleeve tighter, almost ripping the fabric. "Can't we go home now? I just want to go home." Her face had lost all color, and she trembled all over now, nearly gasping for breath. Rick, not knowing what else to do, folded her up in his arms, his eyes locked with Evelyn's over Margaret's head. Margaret continued her desperate pleading, her voice muffled against Rick's chest. "I just want to go home," she said, over and over again. "Please. I just want to go home."   
  
Rick held her tightly, rocking her back and forth as if she were Hannah. "Okay, we'll go," he whispered, stroking a hand over her hair. "We'll go right now. It's okay. Don't worry, we'll take you home."   
  
Jonathan rose to his feet, answering the look Rick shot him. "Right," he said. "I'll go make the arrangements."

***

Ardeth shielded his eyes as the late afternoon sun beat against him. He passed a hand over his face, momentarily overcome with weariness. This had been a hellish day. Why was he even here? He stared for a few long moments at the door, wondering at what he was about to do. Was he a fool? She had refused him most firmly in Alexandria; he had no reason to think that she had changed her mind now. But Jonathan's words sounded in his head, clearing away doubt and bolstering that lingering feeling of hope. "She still loves you…don't let her go this time…"

But when he finally knocked at the door, there was no answer. Ardeth's chest tightened as he tried the door and found it unlocked. His boots echoed off the hardwood floor as he slowly circled the living room, looking around in disbelief. He didn't need to go down the hall to check the bedrooms; everything was clear from where he was standing.

They had gone. He was too late. Margaret was on her way back to England, and out of his life once again. He stalked to the window, leaning heavily on the sill and peering out, as if he could see the O'Connells retreating in the distance. After a few moments, he saw nothing in the street. Instead he saw her face, looking up at him, calmly bidding him farewell as she shook his hand. Then, the picture changed. Again they were saying goodbye, but this time she didn't look calm. Her eyes, already red from weeping, shimmered with new tears. Her hand in his trembled, clinging to him desperately one last time. The sound of a passing car jerked him back to the present. He watched dully as the car made its way down the street. There had been no goodbyes this time. She had not even given him that.

Without conscious effort, his mind drifted back over the past several days, and the anxiety that had constantly gripped his heart. He would never forget the shock of holding that lock of her hair, stained with blood. He remembered the cold fury that flowed through his body when Asim had described the fear in her eyes and the bruises on her face. And when he had seen her injuries for himself, he had nearly stopped breathing. He'd wanted nothing more in that moment than to take her in his arms and protect her from anything, anyone who might try and harm her. 

But it had been impossible, of course. She did not want him. She had clung tightly to Rick and Jonathan, had let each of them hold her and comfort her. But she had not reached for Ardeth; she had not even turned in his direction. When she finally had turned her eyes to him, Ardeth's heart had leapt into his throat. But then she had spoken, and hope had died. She had only wanted to impart information to him. Information he had been glad to receive, certainly; it had led to their victory this morning. But their conversation had been strictly business, as they say; he might as well have been speaking to one of his men.   


As he turned back into the room, his attention was drawn to the hearth. His brow furrowed, and he crossed the room to it. Kneeling down, his fingers picked something out of the ashes. A length of grey wool, its ends singed. The yarn Margaret had kept in her bag, that she had used to conceal the Key. She had burned it; burned the last item in her possession that had any connection at all to him. It was now plain to Ardeth that she wanted nothing more to do with him.

Could he blame her? Being with him meant danger. During their first acquaintance, he had almost killed her, and she still bore a scar from that injury. She had told him of the nightmares that had followed, where he had appeared to her and sliced her throat open without a second glance. Their second encounter had ended with a madman attempting to shoot her point blank. And this time, because of their past association, she had been kidnapped, threatened, and hurt. His love for her had done nothing but condemn her. Even England had not been far enough away to keep her safe from his enemies. From Omar…

And what had Omar really done to her? Ardeth could not help but remember the words the former Medjai had tormented him with only hours ago. Saying what he had done to her body, making her scream… Ardeth clenched his fists so tightly he dimly heard the knuckles crack. Omar had been lying, he must have been. When Ardeth had found Margaret in the boardinghouse last night she had been frightened, yes. But she had been strong. Omar had not broken her. He saw her before him now, huddled in the corner of an empty room. It had been dark; he couldn't even make out her face, but he would know her anywhere. Her hair was wild, and she shook with fear, but she clutched a stout piece of wood in her hands, brandishing it as a makeshift weapon. She had been expecting Omar, and she was ready to fight for her life. And while a part of him felt proud of the strength she possessed, his soul ached, knowing that it was his fault that she had been subjected to Omar in the first place. 

Ardeth swore softly, twirling the bit of yarn between his thumb and index finger. Perhaps he had been a fool after all. Jonathan had given him hope, told him that Margaret still loved him. Could he have been right? Could she still want a life with him, despite everything he had put her through? He blinked at the cold hearth, and saw a boardinghouse on fire. Margaret was safely bundled into the backseat of the car, but suddenly she threw the door open, calling out. Her eyes met his for the first time since Alexandria, and he saw…something. Her breath caught in her throat, and he could practically feel her gaze on his face, as tangible as a caress. He couldn't name what he saw in her eyes, but it had stolen the breath from his body.

Ardeth shook his head. He had no way of knowing if Jonathan's words were true. And even if they were, it was possible that her latest encounter with him had changed her mind. She had certainly not lingered here. The fire in front of him had long been cold; she was probably halfway to Cairo by now. And from there, back to England. She would not be in this country for much longer…

He stood up quickly, his decision made. He cast the bit of yarn back into the fireplace, brushing the soot from his fingers. Jaw set firmly, he strode out of the house, swung into the saddle of his waiting horse, and rode off into growing darkness.


	10. All the Time in the World

Chapter Ten

Margaret sighed for probably the fifth time in ten minutes. All she wanted to do was go home, and she couldn't even do that. The doctor in Luxor had warned her that she needed to rest. But after she heard Evelyn and Jonathan talking in the kitchen, after she heard for certain that Ardeth didn't even want to see her, Egypt had become almost physically repulsive to her. Just knowing that he was nearby and wanted nothing to do with her turned her stomach. All she had been able to think about was getting out of there and getting home. 

But as it had turned out, the doctor had been right. The trip to Cairo had exhausted her. She'd stepped off the train and immediately collapsed right there on the platform in front of everyone. Horrified, Rick had sent for a doctor right away. When he had heard what she had been through, the physician had absolutely forbidden her from traveling any further for at least a week. In fact, he had sternly admonished her for traveling as far as she had already. She was certainly not strong enough for overseas travel; she needed to rest and sleep.

Sleep. Margaret snorted at this idea when she was alone. How long had it been since she had slept? Really slept, not this dozing off for an hour or two, to jerk awake in panic and despair. It wasn't for lack of trying; everyone seemed to have a new idea to help her fall asleep easier. Evelyn had bought copies of Margaret's favorite books, which to Margaret had seemed like a waste, since she had them at home. But Evelyn thought that spending time with familiar stories might relax her. They had certainly done that. She stayed up most nights reading now, when her heart raced so quickly from nightmares that sleep was impossible. She had tried Rick's suggestion of a hot bath before bed, even combining it with Jonathan's gift of a bottle of brandy. But none of these things, so lovingly suggested and given, could chase away the terror she felt at night.

The nightmares were the problem. Not Ardeth. After overhearing Evelyn and Jonathan discuss Ardeth's casual dismissal of her from his life, she had given up on ever seeing him again. She had scolded herself for all the romantic notions she had had in those few moments with him in Luxor. Outside of the burning house, when she first really saw his face again, she thought she had recognized something there. She wasn't sure what, but it had given her hope somehow. She had entertained the idea that he had rescued her out of love; she imagined that he would come to her and say that he had never forgotten her, he still loved her. But those thoughts had quickly given way to reality; he had obviously felt a sense of obligation, nothing more. He had saved her life, and then had left without a backward glance. He had truly never thought of her again. All she had left of him now were her dreams. And even those had become nightmares.

For even though he was dead, Omar still haunted her dreams. He had insinuated himself into her mind, stealing her memories and twisting them into something ugly. For months after Alexandria, she had dreamt of Ardeth; her unconscious mind had recalled the scent of him and the feel of his skin more readily than her waking mind could. In the past few days, those dreams had returned, she assumed due to those few moments that she had spent in Ardeth's presence. Once again in her dreams she was in his arms, his lips on her skin, their bodies entwined in passion. But then it all went wrong; it was Omar's voice in her ear, not Ardeth's. The words echoed in her head and all around, to the rhythm of their lovemaking: "…nothing to him…little whore…he used you well…did you think he loved you?" And then she was awake, her heart racing, her breath coming in strangled gasps. Her chest ached with unshed tears, the emotion pressing down on her, making it hard to breathe. But the tears didn't come. Something held them back now, and she sometimes wondered if she would ever cry again.

Margaret moved to the open window and looked idly out into the street. No one else seemed too upset about the delay in going home. They had all lived in Cairo at one time or another; no one minded taking a few days off to revisit old haunts. Margaret seemed to be the only one who was impatient to get going. As the one person who needed to relax the most, she was the least relaxed of them all.

There was a tap at her door. "Come in," she called, not moving from the window. It was probably Jonathan coming to drag her downstairs for lunch. He was determined that she keep eating regular meals, which was a good idea. Left to her own devices, she would probably be eating as much as she slept.

She turned around as the door opened, and for a moment, she just stared. "Ardeth?" Her voice was uncertain, as if she couldn't trust her eyes, and exhaustion was making her hallucinate. But he wasn't a hallucination. Hallucinations were fantasy images, and fantasy images looked perfect. He looked far from perfect; he looked tired and a little rumpled, as if he had ridden far without rest. He didn't speak at first; he just stared back at her. For a few moments they simply stood in unbroken silence.

But soon, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "You've cut your hair," he said.

Margaret looked at him for a moment, uncomprehending, then raised a shaking hand to her head, taking a lock of hair between her fingers and pulling it through, studying it as if for the first time. "Yes," she said thoughtfully. "I didn't have a choice, really. Evy tried to save it, but…" She shrugged, glancing up at him briefly before turning her eyes back to her hair again. "It will grow back."

Ardeth nodded, but said nothing. After a few more moments of silence, Margaret cleared her throat a little uncomfortably. "I'm glad you're here, actually," she said.

He raised his eyebrows, his eyes lighting up with emotion. "You are?"

"Yes." She swallowed hard then took a deep breath, clasping her hands in front of her. She tried to look up at him, to face him squarely, but found she couldn't. She cast her eyes down instead, staring intently at a floorboard about halfway between them. "I…I never had the chance to thank you. For what you did. Coming after me and saving my life."

"Ah." He nodded slowly, the light gone again from his eyes. "There is no need to thank me." His voice was neutral and impersonal; he could have been talking to anyone. "I did what had to be done."

"Oh." Margaret's breath caught in her chest, and she blinked a few times in rapid succession. Her breath trembled a little as she inhaled, but she fought to keep control of her voice. "Well, I thank you all the same," she said, turning to look out the window again, biting down hard on her lower lip.

Behind her, he sighed heavily. His boots thudded quietly on the floor as he crossed the room to stand behind her. "That is not why I am here." He was right behind her now. "Margaret, I--"

Hands. Hands on her shoulders, gripping them gently but firmly. She turned her head to the side and looked, a little dazed, at the bluish-black spiked tattoo that graced the back of the hand on her right shoulder. 

Margaret shrieked, spinning away from the window and from the hands that were holding her down. But it wasn't Omar standing there, looking at her with a combination of triumph and lust, preparing to backhand her for her insolence. It was Ardeth, his hands raised in a defensive gesture, looking at her in confusion. And sadness.

"You are afraid of me now?" he asked.

Margaret sagged against the wall, trying to calm her racing heart. "No," she said hesitantly. "I--I don't know. It's not you. Not really. It's…" She shook her head and took a deep breath, determined to try again. "When…when I was gone, Omar, he--" Her throat closed up at the sound of his name, and she found herself unable to continue.

Ardeth's face darkened, and he took a step towards Margaret, but stopped when she backed away. "What did he do to you?" His voice was controlled, but it shook with anger.

Unconsciously, her hand went to her jaw, where the bruise from Omar's blow still lingered. "He didn't hit me that much," she said softly. "Not as often as he would have liked. He mostly just said things. Called me names. Told me what he was going to do with me." She whispered this last, the memories still fresh enough to evoke fear.

"He hit you," Ardeth said quietly, his voice still holding that element of danger. "Nothing else? He did not…"

Margaret knew what he was asking. "No. He would have, though." She began to shake a little at the memory, and had to fight to speak. "If you and Rick had not come, he was going to…" She looked down to the floor again, unable to finish the sentence.

Ardeth's face betrayed no expression. "I understand. He hurt you. And now you look at me and you see him, do you not?"

She started to nod, but then paused and shook her head. "Not always," she said. "Not really. But your hands. The tattoos. They look the same, and for a moment, I thought…" She sighed in frustration, hanging her head. "Does it matter?" she whispered miserably.

He looked at her for a long moment, then closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened his eyes again, the confusion was gone, but the sadness remained. "No," he replied. "I suppose it does not." He bowed to her, a formal bow that he might give to a stranger. "Forgive me for disturbing you." Margaret watched, scarcely able to breathe as he walked to the door.

"Please," she said. "Tell me one thing before you go." He stopped then, his hand on the doorknob. He did not speak or turn around. He simply waited for her to ask her question.

"I'm sorry to ask this, but I need to know. I need to know the truth." Margaret drew a deep, shaking breath. "Was there ever a time," she began, but her voice faltered. She clasped her hands together, digging her nails into her own flesh. When she spoke again, her voice was small, and shook with fear. "It doesn't have to be much, just a moment or two. But did you ever love me? Even a little? Was there ever a time when I was more to you than just another whore?" Those last words barely made it out of her mouth; they floated out on a whisper. 

The room was silent. The words hung in the air, almost a tangible presence between them. Margaret closed her eyes, and she gripped the arm of the sofa in front of her. Her whole body tensed up, waiting to hear his answer. Afraid to hear his answer.

"What?" Ardeth's voice was so low that she barely heard it. She opened her eyes as he turned back into the room to face her. His face was blank, but his eyes blazed. "Why do you ask me this?"

Her face, already drawn, now drained of color. "Is it true, then?" she whispered. "Is that really all I was to you? Did I think of you, night after night, like some stupid lovesick schoolgirl, while you never thought of me again?" Her hands went to her stomach; she clutched it as if she had been struck. Margaret sank down onto the sofa, her legs suddenly too weak to hold her up. "He was right," she said dully. "I really was just one of many, wasn't I?" Overcome with shame, she brought her trembling hands up to cover her face.

"No." The intensity in his voice made her look up again. He had not moved from where he stood by the door, but his eyes burned into hers from across the room. "No," he repeated, his voice firm. "You were never that. There was not a moment that I did not love you."

She stared at him in wonder, struggling to take a steady breath. "You… you did love me, then?"

"I love you still. That never changed." He looked down to the floor. When he spoke next, his voice was hesitant, a tone she had never heard in his voice before. "And I had thought that perhaps you still loved me." 

Margaret said nothing at first, she just continued to stare. "You love me still," she repeated. Her eyes looked stunned, they darted from side to side, focusing on nothing.

"Yes." His voice was a firm whisper, showing no trace of doubt. He took a step into the room, then another, and another, deliberately closing the distance between them to where she sat on the sofa. She didn't flinch back, didn't shy away from him as he slowly knelt in front of her. She just looked at him, her face awash in confusion, as if she had never seen him before.

"But I thought you…you didn't want me anymore," she said haltingly. "He…he told me that you never loved me, that I meant nothing to you." 

He shook his head at all of her words. "Impossible," he said. He laid his hands on her arms, his touch light and undemanding. She still did not flinch away. "He fed you those lies to frighten you. To control you. Think, Margaret. If his words were true, then why were you taken in the first place? If you truly meant nothing to me, you would have made a very bad hostage in their eyes. They could not have used you against me."

She stared at him as intently as he stared at her, letting his words sink in. "But…after the fight. At the tomb. You didn't want to see me. They said…"

"The fault is mine," he said. "My pride kept me away from you." He raised a hand then to cup her cheek, his fingertips playing over her skin. Her eyes closed briefly when he touched her face, and when she opened them again they shimmered with moisture. "I wanted nothing more than to be by your side," he continued. "To feel you in my arms again. But you had refused me before. The thought of you doing so again was more than I could bear."

  
Margaret still did not move, she sat as still as a statue, her face bathed in astonishment. "Then… I do mean something to you," she whispered. A couple of tears formed and rolled lazily down her cheeks.   
  
"You mean everything to me," he replied steadily. Ardeth trailed his hands up her arms and over her shoulders, to tangle his fingers in her hair. He leaned forward to brush his lips across her forehead, saying again in an almost inaudible voice, "Everything." With gentle kisses he traced a path down the side of her face, skimming over her cheeks. A small sound that might have been a whimper escaped from her throat. When he tasted her tears, he brought his thumbs down to wipe them away, then rested his face against her hair. "Margaret," he whispered, his voice thick, a little diffident. "Margaret, tell me you love me."   
  
Her lips quivered, she blinked a few times, and nodded unconsciously. The tears that had not fallen for so long now overflowed, washing over her face. A sob exploded from her chest, and she clapped her hands over her mouth in an effort to hold it in. But once started, her tears would not stop; she covered her face with her hands and cried out all the misery, worry and frustration of the past few days.   
  
"I always loved you," she gasped, her voice choked with tears. His eyes closed at her words, and his hands tightened in her hair. "I never stopped. I tried to." Margaret whispered with difficulty, trying to clamp down the emotion surging through her. "I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving you. I thought that if enough time went by, I would feel better. But I never did."   
  
Ardeth did not seem confused or upset by her outburst of tears. He rose to sit beside her. His arms closed around her, and he pressed her head to his shoulder, stopping her words. One hand stroked her hair over and over, his fingers sliding through the strands, as she clung to him and wept. Gasping sobs wracked her body, she trembled in his arms; he held her close, murmuring soft words of comfort into her hair.   
  
Gradually, her sobs lessened until there was only a slight hitch in her chest when she breathed. Margaret did not raise her head; it stayed buried in his shoulder. "I thought you didn't want me anymore," she said into his robes.   
  
Ardeth leaned his head down, resting his cheek on the top of her head. "And I thought that you were happier now in England. Or I hoped you were. I thought that you had regained your life, and no longer thought of me."   
  
"No." She looked up at him then. She reached up tentatively to touch his face, her shaking fingertips barely grazing him. "I missed you all the time. But then in Luxor, after the fire…" New tears came to her eyes and streamed down the tracks already on her cheeks. "I never saw you again, and they said…I knew you weren't coming. I thought you had forgotten me," she finally managed. She struggled to take a steady breath and stop her tears.   
  
He shook his head. "Never," he said. "Every day I thought of you." Margaret once more burrowed into his robes, which were already damp from her tears. She smiled wetly at his words, and clutched convulsively at his chest.   
  
He tilted her face up to him, his fingertips sweeping the tears from her cheeks. "I missed your voice, your smile." His mouth took the place of his fingertips, his lips brushing across her cheek. His voice dropped lower. "Every night I missed your touch. Your lips." His mouth hovered just a breath away from hers, silently asking permission.   
  
She gave it. Margaret leaned forward, closing the distance between them. She caressed his lips lightly with her own, and ran her fingers along the line of his beard, before resting her hand flat against his cheek. At the first touch of her mouth against his, Ardeth's hands came up to frame her face, holding her between his palms as if she were a precious object made of porcelain. He combed his fingers through her hair as they sipped at each other, running a gentle hand over her back. Their lips moved together perfectly, soft and unhurried, as if this were not their first kiss in several months. As if something inside them both had always known that they would be together again. 

After a few gentle kisses, Ardeth drew her close again, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her in his arms again. One hand continued to stroke through her hair; he kissed the top of her head. "Three times now," he said, "you have come into my life. And every time I find myself forced to say farewell to you. The first time I let you go easily; I did not yet know what you meant to me. The second time was difficult; I wanted nothing more than to keep you here, yet I allowed you to go. But now…" He sighed softly. "Margaret, do not ask me to let you go a third time. I do not know if I could do it. I know that I have no claim on you; I cannot demand that you forsake your life in England. I can only ask." He took a deep breath. "Will you stay, Margaret?" he asked, his voice quiet. 

She said nothing. After a few moments, Ardeth looked down at her face, wondering if she was thinking about her answer, or if perhaps she had not heard him. One of her hands still clutched the front of his robes, as if afraid to let him go. Her eyes were closed, her breathing was even, and her entire expression was one of peace.

And she was sound asleep. 

Ardeth smiled ruefully. It was not often that his words, especially an expression of love, put a woman to sleep. But then he looked at her more closely. Now he noticed the shadows under her eyes and her faded complexion; she looked as though she had not slept in a long time. Her body in his arms felt thinner, her bones more delicate somehow. She had truly suffered greatly. His arms tightened around her; she would never suffer again, he would see to that. He leaned back a little on the sofa, pulling her with him, content to be her pillow for as long as she slept.

A little while later, the door opened. "Margaret, are you hungry? I thought we could…" Evelyn's question died on her lips as she took in the scene on the sofa. She looked from Ardeth to the sleeping woman he held in his arms. A myriad of emotions flickered across her face in an instant: surprise, joy, confusion, before settling on concern. "She's asleep?" she asked, putting barely any breath behind the words to make them as silent as she could. Ardeth nodded, barely moving his head. Evelyn pointed to the bedroom door, motioning that he take Margaret in there. He nodded again, slowly rising to his feet, cradling Margaret as if she were an overgrown child. Evelyn preceded him into the bedroom, turning down the bedclothes. Ardeth laid her down, and Evelyn slipped Margaret's shoes off her feet. "Hand me her nightgown," she breathed, gesturing across the room to where Margaret's nightclothes lay draped over a chair. Ardeth did so, and when he turned back around, Evelyn had unbuttoned Margaret's blouse and was drawing it off. He dropped the nightgown on the bed and quickly left the room.

Margaret moaned a little in her sleep as Evelyn undressed her and slipped the nightgown over her head. "Tired," she mumbled. "So tired…" Her eyes blinked slowly but didn't quite open, and she tried to sit up.

Evelyn shushed her easily. "Of course you are, dear," she said, her voice low and soothing. She lay the younger woman back down and drew the blankets up over her, tucking her in. "Just go back to sleep."

"Ardeth…" Margaret sighed. She rolled to her side, nestling into her pillow with a smile. "…he loves me… " But she did not wake fully, she was just muttering in her sleep.

"Yes, he does," Evelyn murmured. She kissed Margaret's forehead, blinking back tears. "I told you he did." Margaret was breathing deeply again, already asleep.

Evelyn closed the bedroom door firmly behind her. She turned into the room to fix Ardeth with an icy stare, her hands on her hips. "I don't believe this," she said, her voice a little louder now as she warmed up to chastising him as if he were one of her children, rather than a leader of thousands. "Do you have any idea how fortunate you are? By all rights, we should be on our way to London by now. The only reason we're still here is because she's not strong enough to travel--"

"Is she still ill?" he interrupted, his face grave.

Evelyn shook her head with a small sigh, her anger dissipating slowly. "No, not really. She's just a little weak. Exhausted more than anything else. She's slept hardly at all since…well, probably since she left England. What with being kidnapped and all. And then after that…" She looked pointedly at Ardeth. "She's had other things on her mind, as well."

He nodded, turning to look at her bedroom door. "I know," he said softly.

"What on earth took you so long?" Evelyn folded her arms over her chest, obviously not finished scolding him.

"My own foolishness," he said, his eyes still on the door.

"Oh." Evelyn sounded slightly surprised to hear this admission. "Yes. Well." Her tone softened, and Ardeth turned around again. A smile was beginning to play around her lips, and she began to look less annoyed and more delighted. "I'm glad to see you came to your senses in time." She nodded to the door. "She seems much less worried now. Does that have something to do with your being here?" 

Ardeth let a slow smile come to his face. He was pretty sure he knew what Evelyn was asking. "I believe so," he replied. "It is hard to say. She fell asleep before we could finish our conversation."

Evelyn's smile grew wider. "Well, I'm sure you can finish it when she wakes up. Come on," she said. "Let's leave her to--"

"No." He glanced again to the closed bedroom door. "I have left her alone enough," he said, so softly that he might have been speaking to himself. "I will do it no more."

Evelyn nodded. "All right then. I'd rather hear that than whatever nonsense you said to Jonathan." She made to leave, but turned back at the door. "I'll have some food sent up later," she said. "Margaret hasn't really been eating, either. Perhaps you can talk her into that as well?"

Ardeth smiled. "I can certainly try."

"Good." And she was gone. 

  
Ardeth slowly opened the bedroom door. Margaret was still asleep, her hands tucked under the pillow, a small smile on her face. Late morning sunlight danced across her sleeping form. He moved to the window and drew the shutters, darkening the room slightly. As he did so, he was suddenly conscious of the sound of his boots on the wooden floor. He sat in the chair by her bed to pull them off. Then he simply stayed in the chair, watching her sleep, relearning every detail of her face. He had not realized how empty he had felt without her until he had her again. But in thinking this, his chest tightened. She had not yet agreed to stay with him. She had said that she loved him, true. But she had said that before, and still left in the end. He did not think he could stand it if she did that again. Ardeth's face set with a new resolve. He would simply have to convince her to stay.

He shifted position in the chair, leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair and propping his cheek on his hand, his eyes still on her. The room was warm, and the chair was comfortable. And he was tired as well; the past few days had been trying enough, and on top of that he had ridden nearly two days without stopping to get to Cairo, all the time praying he would not be too late. Perhaps he would rest there for just a moment or two, while Margaret slept… 

***

  
Margaret awoke to the sensation of pure comfort. Never had a bed felt so warm, or a pillow so soft. She yawned and stretched without opening her eyes, enjoying the feeling of having slept deeply and dreamlessly for the first time in she didn't know how long. She could not even remember going to bed. The last thing she remembered was…   


She opened her eyes, the memory bringing her fully awake. And there he was. Somehow, she was not surprised to see him sitting next to her bed. Ardeth's boots were off; he reclined in the chair, his feet resting on the bed, his head propped on his hand. He looked to be asleep, but he opened his eyes when she stirred.   
  
"How long have I been asleep?" she asked.   
  
He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Six hours and twenty-three minutes."   
  
She smiled at the very precise answer. "And what are you doing there?" As she asked him this, she found that she didn't really care about the answer; she was just pleased to have him near.   
  
"I asked you a question earlier." He smiled at her sleepily. "I am waiting for your answer."   
  
" Mmmmm…" Margaret stretched again, all the way to her toes. "I don't think I remember the question." She held out her arms to him. "Why don't you come here and ask me again?"   
  
With a smile, he slid into the bed beside her, enfolding her in his arms, resting his chin on her head. She could feel his fingers stroking through her hair, and his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. "I asked you to stay with me," he said quietly. "To not go back to England. Will you stay?"   
  
His arms were around her firmly, but not too tightly. He was warm, with a warmth she craved in spite of the blankets covering them. She slid her hands up his back, relishing the feel of his body, of having him close again. He felt…right. For the first time in months, Margaret felt like she was home. She buried her face in his neck and said "Yes" in a whisper against his skin. At first she wasn't sure if he heard her, but then she felt his body relax, and she knew he had. She sighed happily. 

***  
  
Margaret started. She knew that she had fallen asleep again only because she woke up. Ardeth still lay next to her, but she didn't look over at him. Not yet. She just wanted to lie there, with her eyes closed, and savor…everything. The sounds of people and animals in the street, of the subdued bustling movements outside her hotel room door, of the quiet in-and-out of Ardeth's breathing. The feeling of his breath on her cheek, his fist heavy on her stomach, clutching at the fabric of her nightgown, his thigh against hers. It was all so lovely, it was almost like a dream.   
  
But it wasn't a dream; it was real. She opened her eyes to a reality every bit as wonderful, to her, as the most fairytale-like fantasy. Ardeth was right there beside her, warm and solid. She swiveled her head slightly to look at him; his face was relaxed and peaceful. Late afternoon sunlight peeked through the shutters and fell across one cheek, casting a small shadow on his face. Cautiously, Margaret raised her hand to touch his face, to trace the curve of the tattoo on his cheek. His eyes opened.   
  
With a low moan, his hand went around her waist and he pulled her in to him. Margaret snuggled in his embrace for a moment. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "Almost all I've done since you walked in the door is sleep."   
  
He gave a little laugh into her hair, then moved his head to touch his lips to her temple. "No need for apologies. I have been doing the same. But you must rest. Evelyn told me you have not been sleeping." He moved to get up. "I should leave…"   
  
"No!" Her voice sounded frantic as she grabbed at his sleeve, stopping his movement. There was a hint of fear in her eyes. "Please…please don't go. Don't leave me. Ever."   
  
He brushed her hair off her face and gazed at her searchingly. Then he seemed to make a decision; he slid down next to her again and took her in his arms. Instantly, she curled her hands around the back of his head and pulled his mouth down to hers desperately, urgently. He allowed a few kisses, but then he pulled his head away with a smile.   
  
"If I am to stay here with you," he said, his voice teasing, "then you should sleep."   
  
With a small shake of her head, she kissed him with even greater eagerness, tugging somewhat inexpertly at his robes and his sash. He responded unconsciously, deepening their kiss, pulling his arms free of the black fabric and drawing her closer. He moaned quietly at the touch of her hands on his bare skin, but before long he was struggling to tear his mouth from hers.   
  
"Margaret." Her name was little more than a gasp. He placed his hands on her shoulders, obviously fighting for control. "You must rest. And what you are doing to me now will not lead to rest, believe me."   
  
She blinked in confusion. "But…" she said, "don't you want…?"   
  
He smiled then, and kissed her lightly on the nose. "I want everything," he answered. "But you should rest. And we have all the time in the world."   
  
It was her turn to search his face. While she wanted to give him all of herself, she had to admit that she was still very tired. Right now, nothing would be better than to lie safe and secure in his arms. But was that really the way he felt? He had never lied to her, Margaret reflected. When she looked at him, she saw only an expression of love that filled her heart and brought fresh tears to her eyes. Quickly, she buried her face back in his neck to hide her tears, and sighed. What had he said? "All the time in the world."   
  
She didn't mean to, but she must have spoken the words out loud, because he whispered "Yes," into her hair and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

***

Ardeth opened his eyes, experiencing a split-second of the disorientation that came from waking up in a strange place. Then he remembered where he was: Margaret's hotel room. But where was she? He did not have to reach out his hand to know she was not beside him. He would have to be more careful, he chided himself; he should have awakened when she moved. Then he smiled. He must be very comfortable with her indeed to have slept through her departure; she would have had to climb over him to get out of the bed.   
  
The room was almost completely dark. The only light came from the door to the sitting room, open an inch or two. He silently padded to the door, and pulled it open further. He smiled again at the sight that greeted him, and leaned against the doorframe.   
  
Margaret sat on the sofa in her nightgown, her feet curled up under her. A tray sat on the cushion next to her, and a pot of tea was on the coffee table, a half-empty cup next to it. She seemed very intent on eating what looked to be the remains of a chicken leg, gnawing hungrily at the bone.   
  
"I am sure there is more, you do not have to eat the bones."   
  
Margaret jumped a little at the sound of his voice, then gave a little laugh and turned to look at him. "You startled me. I'm sorry, did I wake you?"   
  
Ardeth did not answer, he only moved across the room to sit down on the sofa, facing Margaret over the tray. Motioning to the tray, she said, "Are you hungry? There's loads of food here. I only gnaw bones because of my frugal upbringing. Old habit, really. Rick thinks I'm insane."   
  
There was a touch of humor in her voice that delighted him, and also a hint of color to her cheeks. She already looked infinitely healthier than when he had first seen her that morning. He reached for the teapot, but his brow furrowed when he touched it. After a moment, he laid his palm flat against the porcelain. 

Margaret shrugged. "I know. It's gone cold. But if you put enough sugar in, it tastes all right."

He smiled, leaving the tea where it was, and instead picking up a piece of chicken. "It seems I have accomplished my mission with no effort at all. I promised Evelyn I would try to persuade you to eat," he explained, responding to her raised eyebrows.   
  
"Oh," Margaret said in a tone of dawning comprehension. "She must have had the food sent up. And did she…?" she asked, indicating her nightgown.   
  
"She did."   
  
"And she didn't mind your…um…staying here?"   
  
Ardeth gave a little snort. "She could hardly have kept me away, once I determined to stay. But, no, she did not mind. Do you?"   
  
"Mind your staying? Of course not…" She fell quiet then, a pensive look coming to her face. "What about your men?" she finally asked. "Do they know where you are? Why you're here?Do they all think like Omar did, that I'm some sort of --"   
  
"Enough." His voice held a hint of sharpness. "I will not have you saying that."   
  
Margaret bit her lip, gazing down at her hands in her lap. Ardeth immediately looked apologetic, saying, "Forgive me, I spoke harshly--"   
  
"No, it's not that." She was suddenly very preoccupied with her fingernails. "It's just that…well…" Suddenly, everything poured out. "It's just that nothing has changed, has it? I know I said I'd stay, but I'm still the outsider, the Westerner, someone beneath you. Just another English--" She noticed his eyes darkening again, and quickly finished "-woman."   
  
His face took on a thoughtful expression. When he spoke, it was with quiet confidence. "Much has changed. There are those among my people who may object to you, just as there are those who object to O'Connell being Medjai. But those people are wrong. There has been much upheaval of late. Some who were born Medjai have shown themselves to be traitors, to their people and their duty. While mere Westerners, like you and O'Connell, have shown your loyalty to us and to our cause. This will not go unnoticed. Ultimately, O'Connell will be accepted as one of us, just as you will be accepted as my wife."   
  
She eyes had widened at this speech, but then she shook her head slowly. "It can't possibly be as easy as all that."   
  
"Make no mistake," he said, his voice firm with authority, "I am the leader of the Medjai, and I will choose a wife to my own liking." He continued a little more gently. "But, I did not say it would be easy. There may be some little resistance. Could you bear this?" 

Margaret thought for a moment. "Well," she finally said, leaning over and picking up her cup of cold tea. "I'm not sure. Will I be with you?"

He looked at her a little warily. Had she changed her mind? "Of course. There will be times, however, when I will be away from you. Duty often takes the Medjai away from their families."

She sipped thoughtfully. "But you will come back?" she asked, placing the teacup back on the table.

"Yes."

She smiled then. "Then I could bear anything. As long as you always come back to me."  
  
"Good." A smile broke out across his face then, a charming smile, full of humor and joy, which made her own smile widen. "Besides," he went on, "there have been murmurings as of late about my rapidly advancing age, and continued lack of a wife and heir. I have a feeling that most of my people would be glad to see me take to wife a one-eyed belly dancer, so long as she gave me a son." Margaret laughed out loud at this. "But you are a woman who has lived most of her life in this country; you know our language, you understand many of our customs. It may be easier than you think to gain acceptance."   
  
"I hope so," Margaret said with a sigh. She lay her head against the back of the sofa, a small, satisfied, and slightly sleepy smile on her lips. Ardeth moved aside the tray and pulled her to him, so that she nestled in his arms, her back against his warm chest. He ran his hands down her arms, lacing their fingers together.   
  
He felt her body go very still for just a moment; looking over her shoulder, Ardeth watched her inspect the tattooed spikes on the backs of his hands. "Are you afraid of me still?" he asked.   
  
She took a deep breath. "No," she replied, her voice barely audible. She traced the blue-black lines with the tip of her finger. "Your hands are very different from…his. Only the markings are the same." Lightly, she ran her forefinger up and down each of his fingers. "Your fingers are longer, and your skin is darker. And there is this." She explored a faded scar that ran across his knuckles, before brushing her lips across his hand and resting her cheek against it.   
  
He moved his hand over her face in a caress, whispering in her ear. "You must not fear me. These hands will never harm you." 

Margaret brought his other hand up to cover her heart, as he stroked her face, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I know," she said, her voice low. His fingers, followed closely by his lips, made their lazy way down the side of her neck, and on to her shoulder. Margaret shivered. 

  
His tongue flicked out to taste her skin. How he had missed the taste of her. She moaned softly and laid her head back against his shoulder, baring her neck to him. But, perhaps he should wait; she had been through much. And hadn't he just told her earlier that there was no hurry?  
  
"Come." He stood, helping Margaret to her feet. As she got up, she leaned into him. His arms slid around her waist, to hold her up, he thought. But she looked up at him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes shining, and he could not help but bring his mouth to hers. They kissed gently but thoroughly, exploring, tasting, drinking each other in. The sensation of their warm wet tongues gliding together was intoxicating, delicious. Her mouth tasted sweet, from the tea she had been drinking, and it seemed that he could not get enough of it. Not breaking the kiss, he began to back up, leading her to the bedroom.   
  
Perhaps he had only meant to wrap her securely in his arms and send her off to sleep again. Perhaps if he had not been able to feel her heart beating, or had not heard her sigh as his hands moved over her back. Perhaps… As it was, they had been apart too long. The past days and weeks had been too dark and dangerous; they needed the comfort of each other's arms. He did not have to ask, her desire was in her eyes, in her body, pressed against his, in her hands running over his arms, sliding tantalizingly over the bare skin of his back. In her lips, meeting his, running over his face, his beard, his neck. He pulled back slightly, bringing his hands up to cup her face, running his fingers gently over her cheeks, just barely grazing the faded remains of the bruises. She did not wince as he touched her.   
  
Moving very slowly, making sure she was ready for each touch, each sensation, he dragged her nightgown up and off her body, letting his hands linger. Her breath came a little more quickly, her hands stroked slowly and deliberately up his chest, her touch so light it almost tickled. When she reached his neck, she leaned in to nibble on his lips, and let her fingers slide through his hair. He helped her undress him, and then pulled her into the bed. Ardeth drew the covers snugly back over them, and they abandoned themselves to lazy, languorous lovemaking. Neither of them wanted to hurry this. They wrapped each other up closely, hands and lips moving in a leisurely dance, warm skin gliding over warm skin.   
  
Their bodies bare, their legs and arms intertwined, they moved together without haste. Hands tangled in each other's hair, they kissed passionately, but without heat or desperation.   
  
"I can hardly believe this is real," Margaret murmured, while his mouth reacquainted itself with the skin of her throat. "I've wished for this for so long, but I never thought it would actually happen. That you would come back to me."   
  
He slid a hand down her body, enjoying the feel of her, and the way she arched slightly into his touch. He closed his eyes with a sigh as her lips traveled down his skin, moaning almost silently as her tongue flickered out occasionally to taste him. "We came back to each other," he answered softly. He drew her leg over his hip, pulling her even closer into him.   
  
"And I'm not--" her breath caught in her throat as their bodies joined, and she heard his answering sigh. After a moment, she managed to go on. "I'm not leaving this time." She moved her hips slowly against his, matching his rhythm. She laid her hands flat on the sides of his face. Her eyes were nearly blue with passion, and a lazy, satisfied smile played around her lips as she brushed them against his. "I am yours now," she whispered. "I always have been. For as long as you want me."

  
He was momentarily lost in sensation: the touch of her hands, the feel of her body closing around him, so at first he couldn't speak. He had to take a deep breath and gather his wits before he could answer her. "Forever," he whispered, turning his head to lay a kiss in the center of her palm. "I will want you forever."   
  
Ardeth rolled them over, so that he covered her body, but he did not increase the tempo. They rocked together slowly and without urgency, kissing and caressing, laughing and talking, moaning quietly when the feelings rose at last to a gradual and delightful peak. And still they held on, touching and speaking in low tones, until the first grey light of dawn began to peek through the shutters. Then, finally, they slept.


	11. ...And Everything in its Place

Chapter Eleven

As Ardeth came awake slowly, he was immediately aware of two things. First of all, he was smiling; he couldn't remember a night when he had rested so well. Secondly, he was alone. His left arm was stretched across the bed, and there was no one beside him. A sad confusion swept through him for the space of a heartbeat. Could he have dreamed the events of the day before, when Margaret had been back in his arms? It had seemed so real; even now, he could practically still smell her hair on the pillow beside him…

But then he felt the touch of fingertips on his forehead, stroking lightly. He opened his eyes and the smile returned to his face. Margaret sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in a long skirt and blouse, her hair tied back with a scarf. She smiled down at him.

"There you are," she said. "I was beginning to worry; I thought that I may have to check for a pulse."

He reached up and caught the hand that now grazed the skin of his cheek. "So you decided to tickle the dead man instead?"

Her smile slipped a little as she looked at him. "I wasn't the only one who suffered in this," she said quietly. She brushed a few strands of hair off of his forehead. "I'll venture that you haven't had much rest lately, either."

He held her hand a little more tightly, bringing it to his mouth and brushing his lips across her knuckles. "None of that matters now." He reached up to touch her cheek. "You look much better this morning. How do you feel?"

"Better." She shrugged. "I'm still a little tired, but I feel stronger than I have in a very long time."

"I am glad to hear that." Ardeth seemed to think for a moment. "Although now that you mention it, I do see some weariness in your eyes. Perhaps you should rest a while longer." He tugged on her hand, pulling her back into the bed and into his arms. She went there easily, her shoes landing with a thud on the floor as she kicked them off.

"Well, if you think that's best, " she said with a happy sigh, running a hand down the smooth skin of his chest before winding her arms around him. His arms tightened around her as he kissed the top of her head. She tilted her head up and caught his lips with hers in a soft kiss that deepened almost immediately. He plucked at the scarf, letting it fall to the floor as he combed his fingers through her hair. His lips trailed slowly from her mouth, down the side of her cheek to her throat, while his hands moved deliberately to the buttons of her blouse.

"Excuse me, sir?" Ardeth pulled his head away at her formal tone and looked at her. Her eyes sparkled with laughter, and she was chewing delicately on her bottom lip, trying to keep a straight face. "But I believe you said that I should rest. And what you are doing to me now will not lead to rest." 

Ardeth nearly laughed out loud to find his words from the day before turned against him. "Perhaps you are right," he said, determined to play the game with her. "I should leave you to your rest. But I am finding it very difficult to leave your bed."

"Well, that's good," she said with a grin. "Because I don't want you to leave it. I would be very bored if you left me here all alone."

"I will not do that." His voice had a serious tone that made the grin fall from her face. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he gazed steadily into her eyes. "I will never again leave you alone."

"No." Her voice was equally serious. "No leaving. Ever again." The words were a promise, and she sighed as she felt his arms slide around her, pulling her close once more. She brushed her mouth against his, and he turned it into a gentle kiss. After a few moments she pulled away and sat up. "I have to go."

"There, you see? It begins already." But his voice was light. Margaret laughed at the relaxed look on his face, the look of a man no longer worried about the future.

"I'm not going far," she said. "I just have to go down to breakfast."

Ardeth shook his head. "We will have it sent up," he said with a smile, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Her eyes wavered, and she leaned into his touch. Just as it seemed that she would agree with him, she shook her head.

"No, I can't do that. Rick and Evy are waiting for me, I know they are." She sighed. "Oh, this is going to be torture."

He raised an eyebrow. "You say this about your family?"

She nodded firmly. "Oh, yes. You said Evy was here yesterday, right? And she knows that you were here?" He nodded. "And I didn't show up for dinner last night. There will be no end to the smug looks I will be getting over the breakfast table. In fact, the only thing that would make it worse is if I don't go downstairs at all." She sighed again. "So you see, I have to go."

"Yes, I can see that." He released her with a smile. Margaret stepped into her shoes, scooped up her scarf from the floor, and walked over to the mirror. After she had tied her hair back again, straightened her blouse, and otherwise made herself presentable, she saw that behind her Ardeth had also gotten up and was now fully dressed.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" She asked with a smile, looking at him in the mirror. "You're not going anywhere, are you? Who will tuck me back into bed after breakfast?"

He chuckled, coming up behind her to slip his arms around her waist. "I shall return," he said, pulling her into him. "I did not dare to hope that I would spend so long in your company yesterday. I must meet with some of my men this morning, so they will know that I still live."

She smiled at the humor in his words, but her hands tightened on his arms at the mention of his men. Her eyes met his in the mirror, a little afraid. "Tell me again," she said, her voice small. "Tell me that this…that _we_ will be all right."

He tuned her around to face him. "We will be all right," he said. He kissed her once more, slowly, then leaned his forehead against hers. "This may not be easy. But whatever must be faced, we will face together. I will never let you go again."

A hint of a smile touched her lips. "Good."

"Now go," he said. "I will come back to you as soon as I can. You must rest today. No," he said, smiling as she raised one eyebrow with a slightly wicked expression, "I mean truly rest. You are still not as strong as you should be." He ran the backs of his fingers over her cheek, which was still a little pale.

She nodded. "All right. I'll come back here after breakfast. And I'll rest. I promise."

He squeezed her hands tightly and released her, and she left the bedroom. Soon after he heard the door to her hotel room close behind her, and her footsteps in the hallway. For a few moments he simply stood in the middle of the room, lost in thought. So much had changed in the course of one day. And he could not think of a time when he had been happier.

Shaking his head, he brought his mind back into focus. Hamid and Asim were waiting for him, probably at the museum. He should get there, and soon.

***

Several times on the way down to the dining room, Margaret had nearly lost her nerve and turned back. How could she face them? She had been joking with Ardeth upstairs about breakfast being torture, but the closer she got to the dining room, the more she realized it had not been a joke after all. Only the thought of what she would surely face later, if she didn't come down, made her continue on. Best to get it over with.   
  
They weren't hard to spot; it was late morning, and the dining room was nearly empty. Evelyn and Rick sat at a table in a quiet corner. Any thoughts of turning around and slinking out were erased when Evelyn saw her and waved to her with a smile. A knowing smile, Margaret thought to herself, but perhaps that was just a trick of the light. Her steps slowed as she neared the table. Rick and Evelyn seemed to be staring at her. Everyone in the room seemed to be staring at her. As she sat down, she mustered what she hoped was a perfectly normal smile, but the fact that she was gritting her teeth probably made it a little less so.   
  
"Hey, Meg," Rick boomed happily, seemingly for the benefit of the people sitting at the other end of the dining room. Or possibly even outside in the street. "Did you have a good night…er…I mean …um… you're looking very rosy…I mean, rested…I…oh, hell. Do you want some coffee?"   
  
A nervous giggle escaped Margaret's lips. Was Rick blushing? That alone made her discomfort easier to bear. "Yes, please," she said, gratefully accepting the cup he offered her. As he poured her coffee, he caught her eye and winked. Margaret felt the heat rise in her cheeks again.   
  
Evelyn patted her hand. "Well, you are looking much better this morning. Whatever Ardeth did, it's working marvelously." Margaret's face burned even hotter, and she stared hard at her coffee. Evelyn seemed to think about what she had just said, and choked down a laugh. Margaret stole a glance at her sister-in-law and pursed her lips. For some reason, it was all starting to seem less embarrassing and more amusing.

  
As if to punctuate this latest observation, Jonathan appeared as only he could, throwing the entire dining room into an uproar as he found his companions, sat down, and reached for the coffeepot. Margaret was glad for the distraction he created, but she knew she was going to have to say something soon. She took a deep breath, but before she could speak, Jonathan did instead. "Well, look who we have here. Aren't you looking sparkly-eyed this morning, Meg darling." He reached over to playfully tweak the scarf in her hair. "The cat who ate the whatsit, that's who you look like. Very pink and lovely. I guess you finally had a good night last night. Did you sleep well--?" He stopped speaking mid-sentence to turn to Evelyn. "What?!" He exclaimed in an affronted voice. "Why do you keep kicking me? I can't be in trouble yet, I've only just gotten up."   
  
  
By now, Rick had abandoned all pretense of dignity; he laid his head on his arms to muffle his guffaws. Margaret, who had been growing redder and redder during Jonathan's speech, glanced over at Rick and finally gave up on being embarrassed, joining him in helpless laughter. Shaking her head, Evelyn said, "Ardeth came back yesterday. Idiot," she added with a grin.   
  
Jonathan's eyebrows climbed up his forehead, his mouth dropped open for the briefest moment. "Oh," he said. "I see." He looked over at Margaret, who was wiping tears from the corners of her eyes with her napkin, trying to compose herself. He leaned over and nudged her shoulder with his own until he got her to look at him. "Meg," he asked quietly, as if nobody else were around, "you're sure about this? That he'll make you happy?"   
  
She felt a smile come immediately to her face. She tried to find the words to answer him, to tell Jonathan how much more than merely happy she was. But her smile seemed to be all the answer he needed. "Fair enough, then," he said with finality. "Pass the sugar, please."   
  
Margaret added cream to her coffee, stirring it with a spoon and watching the white swirl into the black of the coffee, blending into a wholly new color. As she took the sugar bowl from Jonathan's place, she knew that she should say something. She needed to tell them, although it was pretty apparent that they already knew. Nevertheless, she owed them this, after all they had done for her. Taking a breath, she gathered her courage and raised her eyes again. "I know this won't exactly be a surprise to anyone, but you should know that I…I'm not going back to England. I'm staying here," she said, feeling that smile creep onto her face again. She picked up her cup to take a sip. "I'm staying here," she continued, "with---"   
  
"Well, speak of the devil," Rick interrupted. "Here he comes now." 

Evelyn smiled. "I knew he wouldn't be able to stay away long."

"Shhh." Margaret had run out of blushes, and just raised her eyebrows at the troublemakers across the table. Still smiling, she turned her head, seeing Ardeth approaching with two of his men.

The coffee cup clattered as she dropped it, bouncing off the edge of the saucer and falling to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces of porcelain and splashes of coffee. The smile fell from her face, and she could practically feel the blood draining from her face. Her lips had gone numb as well; they tingled as she tried to form words.

"You…"

"Meg?" She dimly heard Rick's voice speak her name, but it didn't occur to her to answer. She clutched the edge of the table. Standing next to Ardeth was a traitor. One of Omar's compatriots, she remembered him from the boardinghouse in Luxor. Looking at him now, she clearly recalled his words. _"As long as he defers to these Westerners, it is clear that he is no longer fit to lead."_

What had Omar called him? Asim, that was it. He had been in her room, the day before Rick and Ardeth had saved her the unthinkable fate Omar had planned for her. A fate _he _would have had a hand in. 

__

Asim looked her up and down slowly, as if she were a horse for sale. He shrugged. "She is not so pretty. Do you really think Ardeth would betray his people for her?"

Margaret leapt to her feet, her first instinct to run from him. But her gaze locked with the traitor standing next to the man who was to be her husband. Obviously, Ardeth had no idea who Asim really was. He didn't know the dark thoughts in this man's head. Before she knew what she was doing, she had launched herself around the table and across the room, meeting the approaching Medjai a few feet from the table. She latched onto Ardeth's arm, pulling the surprised man a few steps to the side, away from the traitor.

"Margaret, what are--"

But she did not even acknowledge that Ardeth had spoken, turning instead to Asim. "Who do you think you are?" Her voice was low, filled with a venom that no one had ever heard her use before. Not giving him a chance to speak, she continued. "Ardeth, this is not one of your men. I don't know what he said to make you think he's loyal to you, but he's a liar."

Asim's brow furrowed. He took a step towards her. "My lady, I--" 

Margaret let out a little squeak at his approach and fell back a couple steps, but she still stood between Asim and Ardeth, her arms outstretched in front of her to keep the enemy at bay. "Don't come near me." Her voice shook with a combination of anger and terror. Traitor or not, surely he would not try to harm her now, not here, with Rick and Ardeth so close?

"Margaret, no." Ardeth's hands were on her shoulders, stroking lightly in a gesture of comfort. Margaret did not want to be comforted; she shrugged off the touch.

"Don't treat me like a child!" she cried. "I saw him. I saw you, didn't I, Asim?" She practically hissed his name. "I saw you, and I heard you and Omar. What you were planning. You know I am telling the truth. Don't deny it."

Asim looked a little rattled at the accusations flying his way. He looked to Ardeth, his face grave. "My lord, I should not have come," he said. "I had not thought how my presence would upset her. I will see to the horses." With a slight bow, he turned and was gone.   
  
To her astonishment, Ardeth simply watched him leave, a small frown on his face. She grasped his arm, tugging a little to get him to face her. "You can't just let him go. You have to stop him. He's probably going to meet someone. You have to--"   
  
"Margaret." Ardeth grasped her upper arms, turning her and forcing her to look at him, speaking quickly and urgently. " Margaret, you are mistaken. All is well."   
  
She looked at him in utter frustration. "How can all be well? I'm not mistaken. I saw him. At the boardinghouse, with Omar. Just before you came for me. He-- he told Omar where I was hiding. He was going to…"

"No." Ardeth finally captured her eyes with his, stopping her words. "Listen to me. Asim was there under my orders. I sent him there. He gained Omar's trust, and then he led us to you. He acted as my eyes, going where I could not, ensuring that you were alive. When he left you, he came to me. And when we came for you that night, he sent me up the stairs after you."

Margaret blinked. "But…" She began to protest, but confusion had left her speechless.

"Did Asim ever harm you? Raise a hand to you?" Margaret thought for a moment, then shook her head dumbly. "He would never do so," Ardeth continued. "He is loyal to me." He took a deep breath. "Margaret, it was Asim who killed Omar. He saved my life. We both owe him much."

As comprehension dawned, she stared at Ardeth in horror. "Oh, no."

"It's okay, Meg," Rick said, who had gotten up by then and was standing behind her. "He fooled us too."

"I'm so sorry." Her voice was small, and she looked from Ardeth to Hamid, who had stood there all the time without saying a word. "I feel…oh, I'm so sorry. He must think I'm…"  


"Do not worry. He knows how Omar frightened you." Ardeth took her hands in both of his, squeezing gently. Behind him, Hamid nodded, agreement apparent in his eyes. "We will make things right with Asim." He motioned her back to the table.

"Yeah, don't feel bad," Rick said as they all took their seats. "You only yelled at him. I almost shot him." By this time, a handful of other patrons, Europeans by the look of them, gaped openly at the O'Connells and their guests, looking alarmed and outraged. Rick glared at them, and they turned back to their plates.   
  
The waiter had brought her a new coffee cup. Margaret stared at it, too dazed by what had just happened to pay much attention to anything. But an outburst of laughter from Hamid made her blink in surprise, and brought her attention back to the table. Was this the same stern-faced man who had followed Ardeth only a short while ago? He was saying something about a "brilliant maneuver" to Rick, who looked a little embarrassed. Now that the pounding of her heart was starting to slow, she was better able to attend.   
  
"Oh, and who ever told Nasir he could drive?" Rick asked.   
  
This brought a fresh round of laughter from Hamid, as well as a smile from Ardeth. Hamid answered, his voice choked with laughter. "Nasir cannot drive. He rode in a truck once, so he thought 'what could be easier?'"   
  
Rick's mouth dropped open, while everyone around the table laughed. Even Margaret felt a smile come to her lips. After a few speechless moments, Rick shook his head wearily from side to side. "No wonder that wall fell down. I guess I should be happy we all survived." Conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the meal, and they all settled themselves to breakfast and small talk, a welcome occupation after the urgency and danger of the past weeks.

"Abdul sends his regards as well, O'Connell," Hamid said a little while later, sipping his tea. "He spoke very highly of your leadership; he said it was an honor to serve under you."

"Yeah?" Rick cocked a smile, sitting back in his chair. "Well, that's great. Tell him thanks for me. He was a lifesaver, I'm telling you. Not a lot of your guys speak very much English, and if it weren't for Abdul I don't know what I would have done. Well, that and the French I remembered from my time in the Legion."

Hamid nodded, a smile playing around his lips. "Abdul mentioned this also. He said your French was terrible, and it was probably a blessing you never attempted our language."

Jonathan tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a snort. Margaret hid her smile behind her napkin while Rick sputtered. "I don't know what the hell he's talking about. My French is just fine--"

"No, it isn't," Margaret interrupted, just barely not laughing. "It never was."

"Oh, come on," Rick continued to protest. "I'm a lot better at it than I used to be."

Hamid shrugged. "Abdul says he was able to tell most of the time what you meant. A few sentences were nonsense, however, when you were taking defensive positions."

"What? Oh, he doesn't know what he's saying. I remember that; I said we were going to wait till the sun appeared on the wall. And that's what…'quand le sommeil'…um, what's the tense…apparaît? 'Quand le sommeil apparaît sur le merde.' Now what's--"

But the rest of his words were drowned out by Margaret's laughter. She had thrown her head back and was laughing delightedly. Hamid was also laughing, and Ardeth chuckled. Jonathan looked confused, and Evelyn shook her head.

"I don't think that's right, darling," Evelyn said. "The word for 'sun' is 'soleil,' not 'sommeil.' So you said--"

"Sleep," Margaret choked out. "Oh, Rick, he's right. That made no sense. And the word for 'wall' is 'mur.' You said 'when the sleep appears on the--' " She covered her mouth with her hands and laughed anew.

"Shit," Jonathan said, finally laughing too.

Rick raised an eyebrow at him. "It's not worth using that kind of language over."

Jonathan shrugged. "You said it first. I may not be able to speak French, but I can swear in seven languages. And that's what the sleep was appearing on, my friend."

Rick looked horrified for a moment, then he rubbed his hands over his face. "Oh, well," he said with a sheepish smile. "You can tell Abdul his English wasn't so hot, either."

Margaret giggled again, and then startled everyone, including herself, when the giggle turned into a huge yawn. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I suppose I'm still a little tired."

"Well, of course you are," Evelyn said. "You're not going to be strong again in one day."

"She is right," Ardeth added, placing a concerned hand on her arm. "You should rest."

Margaret wanted to protest; she was having such a lovely time, but her weariness won out. "All right," she said, getting to her feet slowly, leaning a little on Ardeth's proffered arm. "I'll be in my room if anyone needs me."

Jonathan stood too. "I'll see you up, old girl."

Margaret nodded. "Thank you, Jonathan," she said as she took his arm to leave the dining room.

"Yes." Ardeth's voice, quiet but intense, made them both turn around. He fixed Jonathan with an almost unblinking stare. "Thank you, Jonathan," he said softly.

Jonathan met his gaze easily. A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and he inclined his head in a partial nod. "Anytime." Then he turned again and led Margaret out of the room.

"What was that all about?" she whispered. 

Jonathan shook his head. "It's not important."

***

The rest of the morning passed pleasantly, if quietly. After Jonathan left her in her room, Margaret tried to take a nap, but it proved to be impossible. It was too early in the day, and she had so many thoughts whirling through her mind that sleep did not have a chance. Finally, she wandered into the sitting room, pulling Alex's sweater out of her knitting bag. If she was truly staying here in Egypt, she thought, she should hurry and finish this so that Evelyn could take it back with them.

She had just finished the cuff of one sleeve when there was a tap at her door. "Yes, come in," she called, not looking up from her work.

"Good afternoon." The greeting was in Arabic. Margaret looked over to see Asim standing in the doorway. He looked at her a little warily, as if he were expecting to see the fear return to her eyes.   
  
She smiled hesitantly and answered him in his own language. "Good afternoon. I'm so glad to see you. Won't you come in?"   
  
He hesitated. "I am not disturbing you? They said you were resting."   
  
"All I do is rest," she said, her smile more genuine now. "Nobody will let me do anything else. Please come in."   
  
Asim came in and sat down, waving away with thanks her offer of tea. Margaret laid her knitting down in her lap to give her full attention to her guest. But she found that she had trouble facing him; her hands shook a little in her lap. Her eyes downcast, she finally took a deep breath and dove into speech. "I'm happy you're here. I wanted to say that I'm sorry, for the way I…attacked you this morning. Ardeth told me everything. I was very rude, and--"   
  
He bowed his head rather formally. "No apologies are necessary. I am the one who should apologize. I should have thought how my presence would affect you."   
  
Margaret shook her head at this, looking up at him at last. "Not at all. My behavior was unforgivable." She gave him a crooked little half-smile. "But I ask you to forgive me all the same."   
  
"Of course, my lady," Asim answered without hesitation. "But I assure you, I took no offense. I hope that now we can understand each other."   
  
Margaret blinked. What had he called her? "My lady." Those were the same words that Omar had used so many times, over and over, the words a cruel taunt. But Asim's tone of voice was deferential, courteous; he turned what had become an epithet back into a term of respect. Did he know what she and Ardeth had planned for the future? Could it be possible that he approved? Her eyes widened a little in surprise, wondering if he was typical of the Medjai, or simply…   
  
With a start, she realized Asim was speaking again. "… told me you speak our language, but I was not sure I truly believed him. You are a very good actress. You fooled me completely."   
  
"Oh, but you had me fooled as well." Her smile faltered as she remembered the fear that had choked her first time she saw Asim. She had never suspected…

  
He leaned forward slightly in his seat, looking at her with concern. "I am sorry. If I could have offered you any comfort, my lady, I would have. But it simply was not possible."   
  
"I know." With a small effort, Margaret forced herself to stop dwelling on the horrors of the past. "I am just grateful you did… everything you did." She thought for a moment more, then smiled. "But you know, there is one thing that still bothers me about all this."   
  
His eyes widened, and for a moment he looked very young. "My lady, please, what…?"   
  
"Well," she said with a sly expression, "I seem to remember you saying that you didn't think I was pretty enough for your leader."   
  
For a second he did nothing but stare at her, speechless. Then a slow smile spread over his face, answering her own, and his eyes twinkled. "Ah, then it seems that we are both very good at acting."   
  
With that, he was on his feet, murmuring something about letting her rest. Bowing over her hand, he turned to leave in a whirl of robes. But he paused on the sill, thinking for a moment. "My lady," he said quietly,turning back into the room, but not re-entering it. "I stayed close to him to protect you. Even if he had taken you away, I would not have let him harm you." And he was gone.

Margaret stared after him, her mind churning. She found herself rethinking all her ideas about the Medjai, all because of today's events. She had always thought Ardeth unique among his people; the rest of his men had always seemed so impassive, so unfeeling. Either more or less than human. She had seen this was not so of Hamid, with his infectious laughter and ready wit. And now Asim had shown himself to be charming and spirited. Perhaps they were human after all. Perhaps this really would work, she thought to herself as she brought her attention back to the newly made cuff in her lap. 

*** 

  
After their first night together again, Ardeth stayed away for a day or two on his own business. When he said goodbye to her, he was rather reticent about where he was going; Margaret could only gather that he thought it was too unpleasant to explain to her. She didn't want to push him, but she hoped that in time he would be able to tell her more, to believe she was strong enough to share everything. Margaret didn't worry in his absence; he had promised that he would always come back to her, and she trusted in that. So she rested, feeling herself grow stronger with nearly every hour that passed. She spent the warm afternoons knitting on the balcony, and evenings in conversation with the O'Connells. Her time with them had become tinged with a small sense of urgency, since soon she would part from them.  
  
One evening, shortly after dinner, Margaret sat in the courtyard of the hotel, her eyes trained to the heavens. The star patterns looked different here in Cairo than they did in London, she noticed. "Another difference," she murmured with a smile. So many things were different between the two cities, and she had lived in both long enough to know which she preferred. London was cold, it was wet, and it was loud. Too many people bustling around, too many motorcars. Cairo was warm; even the slight coolness of the evening seemed to hold the promise of warmth. The sounds of this city were more comforting, alive: more the chatter of people and the brays of animals than the roar of engines. And most importantly, the man she loved was here. That alone made Egypt more preferable to Margaret than anywhere on earth.   
  
Sometimes it seemed to her that he was a djinn; all she had to do was think of him and he appeared. Although she had not seen him for a couple of days, she was not surprised to now hear his voice behind her. "What are you doing out here all alone? You should be resting."   
  
Her smile widened, she hugged herself in her shawl, but her voice was tinged with mock exasperation when she spoke. "I am resting. If I were anymore restful, I'd grow roots. I couldn't sit in my room another minute." She turned her head to the side to look up at him. "And I'm not alone. Not anymore."   
  
Ardeth gave that soft chuckle that made her insides quiver. Margaret heard the soft thud of his boots as he moved to the bench to sit beside her. He tilted his head up to look at the stars, and she rested her head on his shoulder, her forehead barely touching the warm skin of his neck.   
  
"Every night I thought of you," he said, his voice so quiet she barely heard him. "Every night I looked at the stars and saw your face."   
  
She nodded against his shoulder, tears stinging her eyes as she remembered the heartbreaking nights in the garden. Forgetting what he looked like, the exact sound of his voice. She reached for his hand, to reassure herself that he was really there. He held it firmly, their fingers twining together.   
  
"Until one night..."   
  
Margaret's brow furrowed; her head lifted from his shoulder. "Until one night, what?" she asked, dread making its way into her heart. Had he met someone else while they were apart? Why hadn't he told her?   
  
Ardeth reached into his robes then, and drew something from an inner pocket. It was a scrap of silk, which he unrolled carefully, never letting go of her hand. Soon, the object was laid bare on his palm. Margaret's pocket watch. He handed it to her, and she retrieved her hand to click it open. The hands were stuck fast at a quarter to seven.   
  
"It stopped," he said. "I am not sure how it happened. But in that moment when I realized it no longer worked, I knew that I had lost you completely."   
  
She shook her head, her forefinger tracing the minute hand. "No. It will work again. It's just sand in the gears, probably. It happened all the time before, when I lived here. There's a jeweler in town who has fixed it several times." She smiled then. "He knows this watch as well as I do." She reached up and laid a hand flat on his cheek. "You didn't lose me," she said. "I came home."   
  
"Home." He smiled to hear her say the word. He cupped her cheek with one hand, echoing the way she touched him.   
  
She nodded. "I'm with you," she whispered. "Wherever you are, that's home." And his lips were on hers, in a kiss that was not so much a kiss as a promise.   
  
Ardeth smiled against her lips. "Welcome home," he murmured, as his lips moved softly against hers. Margaret sighed, her lips parting under his, her fingers playing with a lock of his hair. She was suddenly very much aware of his hand sliding across her back, to rest at her hip, pulling her a little closer. Of his other hand skimming over her cheek, stroking down her neck. A small shiver ran through her. She could hear his breath coming faster as his tongue darted into her mouth; she leaned into him and wrapped her arm around his waist, holding onto the thick leather of his belt, heedless of the watch as it fell with a quiet thump into the grass…   
  
"Drop something?"   
  
Rick's voice, though pitched low, sounded shockingly loud in Margaret's ears. She gasped and sprang up from her seat like a startled cat. Rick stood a little behind the bench, his eyebrows raised sardonically; in his hand he held her watch. Evelyn was beside him, trying vainly to hide a wide smile behind her hand.   
  
Ardeth, apparently unfazed, merely sighed and got to his feet, giving Rick a small nod. "There have been times, O'Connell," he said calmly, "that I have been glad to see you appear beside me. This, however, is not one of those times."   
  
"I'll bet," Rick replied, stepping easily over the bench to hand the watch to Margaret, who, instead of taking it, looked at it as though she had never seen it before.   
  
"We just thought it was getting a little late," Evelyn said as she stepped neatly around the bench. She managed to take the watch, press it into Margaret's hand, and turn them all back toward the hotel entrance in one quick, smooth movement. "We didn't want Margaret catching a chill." Margaret felt her momentary embarrassment melt away when Evelyn squeezed her hand and giggled, saying to Margaret under her breath, "Not much danger of that, I see." The two women walked arm in arm back into the hotel, their men following a couple of steps behind.   
  
There was a subtle change in their relationship after that night. It took her a little while to articulate what was different, but soon Margaret was able to grasp the change. She glanced around as she sat knitting in a quiet corner of the spacious sitting room in the O'Connell's hotel suite. Ardeth sat near her knees on a low chair, toying with the finished edge of Alex's omnipresent, nearly completed sweater. Rick stood talking to a couple of Ardeth's men, while Jonathan entertained himself by trying to teach Evelyn and Hamid the intricacies of cheating at poker, "just for fun, of course." Margaret smiled ruefully to herself.   
  
"Why do you smile so?" Ardeth asked her.   
  
She laughed quietly. "It's just that I feel like a debutante, surrounded by chaperones."   
  
One eyebrow went up. "You do not enjoy this time spent with your family and friends?"   
  
"Well, it's just…" She leaned forward, her head bending closer to his. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Evelyn glance their way, and she straightened up again with a sigh. "I feel like we're being watched," she said, pitching her voice lower so it only reached his ears. "Like we're going to misbehave or something." She directed her attention again to her knitting needles, but briefly tossed her eyes in his direction. "I'm far too old to be a debutante," she said. "And it's a little too late for chaperones." Her lips twitched in a wicked little smile. "I'd say we're far past the courting stage."   
  
His small smile answered hers. "There are proprieties, my love. And we are not yet wed."   
  
She exhaled a small puff of air, rolling her eyes. "We were not wed a few nights ago, either," she said. "When you spent nearly twenty-four hours in my room. And what about…" Her face colored slightly at the memory, but her voice didn't falter. "What about the first time? In Alexandria? I don't recall any lectures on impropriety then."

His eyes softened as he remembered. "We were together for a very short time then," he said. "It is possible that we allowed ourselves to be swayed by our passions. But that is no reason to act in such a manner now."

"Why not?" Margaret frowned. "Why should we have to act so differently all of a sudden?"

  
"So. You do not care for my company if I am not in your bed?" he asked her teasingly.   
  
Margaret flushed pink, her eyes widening. "You're deliberately misunderstanding me," she said in a whisper, harsh with embarrassment.  
  
"Things have changed." His voice sounded conciliatory. "We had not announced any intention to marry."   
  
Her eyebrows shot up, and she lowered her needles to regard him. "So you're saying that it would be all right to spend the night with me if I were just your mistress or…or something, but not now that you want to marry me?"   
  
He considered for a moment before nodding his head. "I believe that is exactly what I'm saying."   
  
"That's ridiculous." Margaret's brow furrowed. She turned her work in her lap, ending one row and beginning another. Her needles stabbed into the yarn as Margaret vented her frustration.  
  
Ardeth caught the end of her work again, running the wool through his fingers. "True," he chuckled. "Traditions often are."   
  
"Yet we must adhere to them?" Margaret clearly wasn't going to let this issue rest. "It's just silly, after we've already…I mean…" She cast around for the right words. Finally she gave a little sigh."I miss you."   
  
Ardeth leaned in toward her, lightly resting his hands on her knees. At his touch, she looked up, her knitting falling forgotten into her lap. "Margaret," he said with a small smile, "how can you miss me? I am here beside you."   
  
"You know what I mean."   
  
"Yes, I do." He gazed at her for a moment, then gently picked up one of her hands, holding it in both of his. "I miss you as well."

His hands were warm, and Margaret felt her shoulders relax, and a smile drifted back over her lips. "You'd better be careful," she warned him. "Evelyn is watching us like a hawk."   
  
"Is she?" His voice was very soft, tinged with a seductive, singsong quality. He brought her hand up to his mouth, barely grazing the back of it with his lips. "And what is she doing now?"   
  
"She's…um…" Margaret suddenly found speaking difficult. Not to mention breathing. "She's smiling."   
  
Laying her hand back down in her lap, he covered it with one of his own. "It makes her happy to see us observing the conventions. I know my men prefer to see that I treat you as a lady of the Medjai, and not as a paramour." He reached out then, taking a lock of her hair, letting its length slide through his fingers. "Margaret," he whispered, "we have had very little time together. Do not so easily dismiss the ritual of courtship."   
  
She had regained the ability to breathe; her breath now came quickly, and she swallowed as she looked into his eyes. "I was raised by nuns, if you recall," she murmured. "I know nothing about courtship." 

A slow smile spread across his face as he leaned infinitesimally closer. "Then it will be my honor to teach you."

Margaret stared silently into his eyes, momentarily entranced by what she saw in them. She had nearly worked herself into a temper only a moment ago, but now she could barely remember why. She smiled, delighting in how her smile made his widen just a little. A burst of laughter from Rick and the Medjai across the room made them both look around, and when Ardeth was called to them a moment later to settle some silly dispute, she was able to let him go with good grace. After all, he would return to her.  


***

The next few days settled into a comfortable routine. Ardeth visited Margaret daily, arriving at the hotel in the afternoon or evening. They continued to spend most of their time together in Evelyn and Rick's large sitting room, where all the family would gather, as well as the occasional Medjai guests. At times they would manage to find a quiet corner, and talk over everything that was to come in their lives. But usually the evenings would pass away in quiet chat or amusing stories. It all reminded her of nothing so much as a scene from a Jane Austen book. 

Ardeth was right, Margaret discovered. The ritual of courtship was a marvelous thing. Their time together was relaxed, and they were able to get to know each other more innocently, more thoroughly than they ever had before. And although they were never left completely alone, he often left her breathless. She had probably never been so aware of him before. Of the warm murmur of his voice in her ear, the quiet strength of his hands barely touching hers. At times, his warm brown eyes would capture hers, she could feel his breath across her cheek as he whispered...something. She would be so caught up in the nearness of him that she didn't even understand what he had said. He smiled a slow smile at the effect he had on her, but she could see in his eyes that she affected him the same way. The thought made her shiver inside.

Before long, the doctor came to visit, and pronounced Margaret to be fully recovered. She was glad to hear the news; she could sense that the O'Connells missed the children and were restless to get home, and had only been lingering in Cairo to ensure that she was healthy. Rick made arrangements for them to leave, and Margaret helped Evelyn pack her things.

The night before the O'Connells' departure was spent like all the others, in what had become a nightly little party in their hotel suite. Margaret finished the collar of Alex's sweater with lightning speed, and presented it to Evelyn with a flourish and a laugh. As the women withdrew briefly to the bedroom to pack it away, Rick caught Hamid's arm and jerked his head to the side. The Medjai nodded, following Rick to a quiet corner where they could speak in relative privacy. 

"Look, I need you to tell me something." Rick's eyes were very serious. Hamid raised his eyebrows and waited for him to continue. "It's about Meg. Is…is she going to be okay? With Ardeth, I mean?"

"Of course," Hamid replied. "He is our leader, and he is a good man. He would never harm her."

Rick shook his head. "Of course he wouldn't. That's not what I mean." He sighed, trying to put his fears into words. "It's just that…well, Meg's not one of you. I'm worried that she's setting herself up for a miserable life. And I'm not sure if I can go home without knowing that she's going to be okay."

Hamid considered his words for a moment. "The leader of the Medjai chooses his own wife," he said. "It is not for his people to decide whom he marries." He thought for a few more moments before he spoke again. "She is no mere western woman. She was held hostage, beaten by her captors, yet she spied on them without them knowing she understood their language. She was able to learn information from them that led to their defeat at our hands. One morning, not long ago, she put her own body between our leader and someone she thought would harm him, with little thought for herself." He shook his head. "Her birth matters not. She is already one of us."

"Okay." Rick let out the breath he'd been holding. "I just want her to be happy, and it's obvious that she'll be happiest if she stays here. But I'd hate to get home and leave her here, and then have things not work out…" He shook his head.

"Of course," Hamid replied. "You are her family. But you have no need to fear. There is little that our people could do to prevent them from marrying." He turned his head to look across the room at the couple, who now chatted together with Evelyn and Asim, unaware that their future was being discussed. He was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed just a little in thought. "Of course," he said slowly, "if they were already wed, there would be nothing at all to say about the matter. A marriage vow is a sacred bond that cannot be broken."

Rick watched as Margaret laughed quietly at something Evelyn said, hiding her smile behind her hand. He was really going to miss her; he'd enjoyed being a brother again these past couple of years. He thought about Hamid's last words, a small smile coming to his face. "You mean present the people with a done deal. Of course." His smile widened. "I bet I could scare up a priest or something by tomorrow morning. You think that would work?"

Hamid's smile echoed Rick's. "I believe that it would."

"Great." Rick clapped his hands, rubbing them together as he crossed the room. Standing behind Margaret, he grasped her shoulders. "So," he said, "What are your plans for tomorrow?"  


She looked up at him, arching an eyebrow. "Well, I believe seeing my brother and his family off to England was the main thing on my agenda."

"Yeah, but that's not till one in the afternoon. Nothing till then?" She shook her head, looking more confused by the second. "Good. Great. Then right after breakfast, you're getting married."

This did not dispel Margaret's confusion. She stared up at him like he'd just sprouted wings. Glancing around, Rick saw that Evelyn and Ardeth were now looking at him in the same way. Doubt crept into his gut for the first time. Confident attitude gone, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Uh, that is what you wanted, right? I mean, you two were planning on…"

"Yes," Ardeth answered carefully. "Of course. But…" He looked past Rick to his lieutenant, a question in his eyes. Hamid spoke a few sentences in Arabic, outlining the reason for the expediency. Ardeth, Margaret, and Asim all smiled when he finished speaking.

"Rick, that's a fantastic idea," Margaret said. "Brilliant."

Hamid nodded. "O'Connell's plans are much better when he does not try to say them in French," he said with an easy smile.

"Enough of that," Rick said, turning to Hamid with a mock glare.

"Well, how about in English, then?" Evelyn asked, her brow still furrowed. "If my husband's being brilliant, I'd like to know why."

***

Margaret had never been a particularly romantic person. She had never been one of those girls prone to daydreaming, wondering what her wedding would be like. She never had childhood visions of long white gowns, gossamer veils, or massive churches with stained glass windows.

This was probably for the best. 

She had barely rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tied her dressing gown on when there was an urgent knocking at her door. She opened it, and Evelyn bustled in, followed closely by a waiter from downstairs, bearing a pot of coffee and breakfast on a tray. Evelyn headed immediately for Margaret's bedroom, throwing open the door to her wardrobe. Margaret thanked the waiter, closed the door behind him, then followed her sister-in-law into the bedroom, watching a little bemusedly as Evelyn selected a dress, regarded it critically, and tossed it onto the growing pile on the bed.

"Evy?" she finally asked. "What are you doing?"

"Oooh, I could strangle that husband of mine," Evelyn said under her breath, not answering Margaret's question. She glanced over her shoulder at Margaret. "Just like a man, isn't it? To just decide that something as important as a wedding should happen with, what, twelve hours' notice? No time to get you something nice to wear, no time for anything, really. It's just ridiculous."

Margaret shook her head. "No, it's not." She crossed the room then, taking the dress from Evy's hands. "It doesn't matter. As long as the people I love are there to see it, I don't care if I get married in my nightgown, downstairs in the front lobby." She gripped Evelyn's hands tightly, trying to get the older woman to stop worrying. In fact, Margaret was amazed at how calm she felt. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to her at all. Everything felt normal; everything felt right.

Evelyn snorted, sounding alarmingly like her husband. "Well, if we don't hurry up, that's exactly what will happen, knowing Rick." She turned back to the wardrobe, pulling out another dress. "What about this one? The blue?"

Margaret smiled. "Yes. Perfect." She remembered her blue silk gown at the reception in Alexandria. Ardeth had liked her in blue. Very much.

It was a most unorthodox wedding.

The bride didn't wear a white satin gown, trimmed in lace. There was no church, and no rings were exchanged. But none of that was important, really. All that mattered to Margaret was the man who stood at her side, pledging himself to her, as she pledged herself to him. And all that mattered to everyone else, besides the couple's happiness, were the two black-robed Medjai who witnessed the vows, rendering them indisputable. Within a few minutes, Ardeth and Margaret were wed, and there was no one who could question the validity of that marriage.

After a quick round of congratulations, the wedding seemed all but forgotten. The rest of the morning passed in busy confusion. Evelyn, Rick and Jonathan were sailing early in the afternoon, and there was still much to do. Margaret did what she could, helping with last minute packing, directing couriers with the luggage, trying to keep tabs on Jonathan, to make sure he didn't get left behind. Sooner than Margaret could have imagined, she found herself standing next to Ardeth at the teeming and bustling docks, hugging Evelyn and trying to find the right words to say. 

Evelyn tried her best to smile, though her eyes were quickly filling up with tears. "I can't believe that we're leaving you here," she told Margaret. "I feel like you've always been in our family. I…I don't know what we'll do without you." 

Margaret was still able to smile, although it was proving difficult. "It'll be all right. It's not as if we'll never see each other again, right?"

"Right." But Evelyn's voice was choked off. She pulled Margaret close into another hug. "What will I tell Hannah?"  
  
Margaret immediately burst out with a sob at the mention of the little girl. She laid her head on Evelyn's shoulder, trying to stop her tears. "Tell her she can have my lipsticks. All of them."

They were hugging each other tightly now, laughing and crying at the same time. "You'll visit us," Margaret choked out, "and we'll visit you…Somehow…we'll find a way…"   
  
"And promise you'll write…"   
  
"I will, I will. And you too. I want to know every little thing that happens…"   
  
At the sound of a throat clearing, they looked up to see Rick regarding them with an uncomfortable look. Margaret thought that perhaps he would have liked to shed a tear or two as well, if he weren't a man. With watery smiles, she and Evelyn attempted to pull themselves together, dabbing at their eyes with their handkerchiefs.

Jonathan was the next to say goodbye. He didn't say much, just embraced her for a moment and kissed her on the forehead. "You'll be fine," he said softly. "We're going to miss you, but you're where you belong." Margaret nodded, feeling fresh tears come to her eyes. Had she really thought, only a few days ago, that she would never cry again? Jonathan smiled, clapped Ardeth on the shoulder, and walked his sister up the gangplank.

Only Rick was left. He and Margaret looked at each other for a long moment, not speaking at first. Finally Margaret took a deep breath. "We're a long way from the orphanage," she said.

"No we're not," he said lightly. "It's just a few blocks over that way." But the shine in his eyes, where tears threatened, belied the cheerfulness of his words. He stepped up to her to hold her tightly, and Margaret closed her eyes, memorizing the feel of her adopted brother. For although she had assured Evelyn that they would meet again, she couldn't be sure that it would happen.

"You sure you're going to be okay?" Rick looked down at her, but didn't let her go. He wiped at one of her tears with his thumb. "I feel like I'm just leaving you right where I found you. It doesn't feel right."

Margaret shook her head. "That's not at all what you're doing. You've done so much for me, you know that. You gave me a family, a home." She laughed, a little wetly through her tears. "You even gave me a life. If it weren't for you, I'd still be in that orphanage, too afraid to look outside."

"Yeah." Rick smiled then, remembering the mousy little woman who had greeted him in Cairo three years ago. "Look at you now; traipsing all over the world, going out to live God knows where in the desert." His face fell again, and the worried look returned. He looked over her shoulder to Ardeth, and stabbed his finger threateningly at him. "You," he said, his voice harsh with emotion, "you'd better take good care of Meg. No, better than good. Great care. Excellent care. Or I swear to God I'll…"

"I would expect nothing less from you," Ardeth answered with a smile. "You have no need to fear."

Rick nodded wordlessly and stuck his hand out. After a firm handshake, Ardeth stepped back to let Margaret have these last few moments with the man she thought of as a brother. Margaret looked up at Rick, tears still shining on her cheeks, and slipped her hands into his. "I'll be fine," she promised him. She kissed his cheek, and after one more fierce hug he let her go. 

Margaret stood watching and waving until long after she could actually make out their forms on the ship. Her eyes were beginning to burn with tears again. In such a short time, the O'Connells had become so precious to her; they were the closest thing to family she had ever known, and she already felt their loss acutely. But then she felt strong hands on her arms, squeezing lightly. Ardeth said nothing; he simply offered her comfort with his presence, and she smiled as she leaned into him just a little. With all the chaos of the morning, she had nearly forgotten that she was married now, and about to start on another adventure, another life. How on earth could she have forgotten that? She turned her head and gave him a nervous smile. "I suppose we should go."

His smile was not nervous; it was content, mirroring the look in his eyes. "Yes, we should," he agreed. "We have a journey ahead of us as well. Come," he said, turning to escort her away from the docks. "Our horses have been readied for us."

"Horses?" Margaret stopped walking. She groaned. "I forgot I'd have to ride again."

Ardeth laughed quietly as his mind flew back to their first acquaintance, and their ride to Hamunaptra. "You will soon grow accustomed to it," he said. "You will not be sore for long."

  
Margaret sighed, her face doubtful, but her eyes teasing. "I don't know. Are you sure the doctor said I was strong enough to ride?" 

"He did," Ardeth replied with a smile. He thought for a moment, stepping a little closer to her. "But you have a point. We will be careful not to cover too much ground today, so that tonight you may rest."

"Rest?" Her eyes swiveled up to his without moving her head. The look in his eyes warmed her blood. "Are you sure that's all I'll do? Rest?"

Ardeth caught her hand, bringing it up between them to brush his lips across her knuckles. He bent his head to hers, his lips nearly touching her ear. "If we stop early enough," he murmured, "you will also have time to rest."

****

Margaret's eyes widened, and it felt as though her whole body flushed with heat. So much had changed today. She suddenly realized just how close her new husband was standing. And that it would no longer be improper for them to… Margaret shivered slightly, and Ardeth's smile took on a sly quality, knowing her thoughts.

"We should probably get going, then," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "I can feel weariness creeping up on me already."

Ardeth placed a hand at the small of her back as they began to walk again. "Whatever my lady desires."

The End. 

Really. 

I'm Not Kidding. 

I Mean It This Time. 

__

(Probably-- Ell.)


End file.
